I 


"SHE  TURNED  SLOWLY" 


AN     ELEPHANT'S    TRACK 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

M.  E.  M.  DAVIS 

AUTHOR  OF 

UNDER    THE   MAN    PIG "    "MINDING   THE   GAP" 
UIN  WAR  TIMES  AT  LA  ROSE  BLANCHE1' 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER   &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

1897 


Copyright,  1896,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  rettrved. 


v-v 

sj  O 


TO 

Gbe  Memory 

OF 

MY  FATHER  AND  MY  MOTHER 


M541103 


Of  the  stories  embraced  in  the  following  collection,  the  two 
entitled  "A  Heart  Leaf  from  Stony  Creek  Bottom"  and  "At 
the  Corner  of  Absinthe  and  Anisette"  appeared  respectively  in 
"The  Atlantic  Monthly"  and  "Romance."  By  the  courtesy 
of  Messrs.  Houghton,  Miffiin  &  Company  and  of  the  Current 
Literature  Company,  I  am  permitted  to  reproduce  them  here. 

"The  Cloven  Heart"  and  "The  Love  Stranche"  were  written 
for  this  volume.  The  other  stories  have  all  appeared  in  the 
publications  of  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers. 

M.  E.  M.  DAVIS 


CONTENTS 


I 

ALONG  JIM-NED   CREEK 

PAGE 

AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 1 

A  SNIPE-HUNT — A  STORY  OP  JIM- NED  CREEK  .     .     20 
THE  GROVELLING  OP  JINNY  TRIMBLE 36 

II 
FLYING   THREADS 

WTuE  SONG  OF  THE  OPAL 55 

yAT  LA  GLORIEUSE 89 

/THE  SOUL  OF  ROSE  DEDE 126 

A  MIRACLE 141 

AT  THE  CORNER  OF  ABSINTHE  AND  ANISETTE  .  .  153 

.-THE  CLOVEN  HEART 162 

III 
FROM   THE   QUARTER 

A  HEART-LEAF  PROM  STONY  CREEK  BOTTOM.     .     .  175 

/  A  BAMBOULA 188 

'     MR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  GISH'S  BALL 210 

"THE  CENTRE  FIGGER" 227 

THE  "ZARK" 244 

/THE  LOVE-STRANCHE    ....  .  256 


ILLUSTEATIONS 


' '  SHE  TURNED  SLOWLY  " Frontispiece 

"'YOU     BETTER    PUT     ON     A     THICKER     COAT, 

BUD'" Facing  p.  22 

"  '  THE  BALANCE  OF  'EM  MUST  OF  GOT  LOST  '  ".  "  28 

"  'FLEE  FROM  THE  WRATH  TO  COME'"    .     .  "  32 

MADAME  RAYMONDE-ARNAULT "  88 

"  SHE       FLUSHED      AND      HER      BROWN       EYES 

DROOPED  " .  "  92 

"IT  WAS  ONLY  FELICE" "  106 

"HE  THREW  HIMSELF  AGAINST  THE  DOOR"  .  "  110 

' '  IT  YIELDED  SUDDENLY,   AS  IF  OPENED   FROM 

WITHIN  " "  114 

"  '  WHAR     MEK     YOU     WANTER     GO     IN     SWIM- 

MIN'?'" "  120 

THE   BAMBOULA "  202 

' '  THEY   WERE   COMING    HOME    FROM    MONDAY- 
NIGHT  PRAYER-MEETING" "  212 

"HE  FACED  ABOUT  WITH  A  LOW  BOW "  .     .  "  220 

"AND  THEN  HE  DANCED" "  222 

"BENJY  HAD  NO  HEART  FOR  FURTHER  CON 
CEALMENTS" "  224 

"MRS.  MANNING  STUMBLED  FORWARD"  "  254 


I 

ALONG  JIM-NED   CREEK 


AN   ELEPHANT'S    TRACK 


'•"IT  kin  be  done,  Nance,  an'  I'm  agoin'  to  do 
it  ef  it  busts  me."  Newt  Pinson  brought  the 
forelegs  of  his  raw-hide-bottomed  chair  down  on 
the  puncheon  floor  with  a  thump,  and  slapped 
his  knees  emphatically  with  his  hairy  hands. 

"Five  dollars  air  a  mighty  heap  to  spen'  fer 
sech  foolishness,  Newt,"  replied  his  wife,  turn 
ing  the  squalling  baby  over  on  its  stomach  and 
pounding  it  vigorously  on  the  back.  "  Mo'over," 
she  added,  after  a  pause,  ' '  I  don't  see  ez  ye've 
got  the  five  dollars,  nohow. " 

Mr.  Pinson  stretched  out  one  long  leg  and 
thrust  a  hand  into  his  trousers-pocket.  "  Ye're 
mighty  right,  Nance,  I  'ain't, "he  admitted,  blow 
ing  the  loose  tobacco  from  the  handful  of  coin 
fetched  up  from  the  honest  home-made  depths  ; 
"I've  got  jes  three  dollars  and  a  half  lef  outn 
what  Sam  Leggett  paid  me  fer  the  yearlin'.  But 
me  an'  the  childern  hev  been  a-talkin'  of  it  over, 
an'  they  hev  conclusioned  to  th'ow  in  ther  aigg 
money ;  Dan  fo'  bits,  an'  Pete  fo';  Joe  an'  Jed 
hez  two  bits  betwix  'em,  an'  Polly  M'riar  says 
ez  how  she  hev  fifteen  cents.  I'm  lackin'  of  a 


2  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

dime,  but  I  reckin  I  kin  scratch  thet  up  some- 
whers." 

"  Ther's  my  two  bits  up  yan  in  the  clock/'  Mrs. 
Pinson  remarked,  with  pretended  indifference  ; 
"ye  kin  take  that  ef  ye  air  sech  a  plumb  fool  ez 
to  pike  the  whole  passel  of  us  inter  town  to  see 
the  circus/7 

"Shucks,  Nance  I"  he  returned,  indignantly  ; 
"I  ain't  agoin'  to  tecli  yo' two  bits."  Neverthe 
less  he  got  up  and  fumbled  about  in  the  clock- 
case  on  the  high  mantel-shelf  until  he  found  it. 
"Anyhow,"  he  added,  as  he  reseated  himself,  "I 
kin  pay  it  back  when  ye  git  ready  fer  yo'  nex' 
bottle  o'  snuff." 

"  Will  they  be  a  el'phunt  ?"  demanded  one  of 
the  freckle -faced  urchins  gathered  around  the 
heads  of  the  family,  listening,  breathless,  to  the 
discussion. 

"  A  dollar  fer  Nance,  an'  a  dollar  fer  me,"  Mr. 
Pinson  counted,  gravely,  taking  no  notice  of  the 
interruption,  "an'  fo'  bits  apiece  fer  Beck  an' 
Dan  an'  Pete  an'  Polly  M'riar  an'  Joe  an'  Jed. 
Childern  half  price  "—he  glanced  casually  at  the 
naming  circus  poster  tacked  against  the  chinked 
wall  in  the  chimney  corner — "  not  countin'  of  the 
baby.  An'  fifteen  cents  lef,  by  jing  !" 

"Do  ye  reckin  I  kin  git  in  fer  half  price, 
paw  ?"  This  question,  which  came  from  Becky, 
the  oldest  of  the  Pinson  brood,  who  stood  five 
feet  six  and  a  half  inches  in  her  bare  feet,  might 
have  been  meant  as  a  bit  of  covert  sarcasm,  had 
not  the  eager  voice  belied  any  such  intention. 
Her  father's  eyes  travelled  slowly  up  from  the 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  3 

hem  of  her  homespun  frock,  as  she  stood  leaning 
against  the  chimney  jamb,  to  her  pretty  round 
face  framed  in  its  shock  of  frizzly  red  hair. 
"  Waal,  I  be  dinged,  Beck  I"  he  exclaimed,  in 
dismay,  "  I  keep  fergittin'  ez  how  ye  air  growed 
up  !"  His  face  clouded,  and  he  looked  ruefully 
at  the  pile  of  dimes  and  half-dimes  lying  in  his 
large  palm. 

"  An'  Sam  Leggett's  gone  to  Kansas  on  a  cat 
tle  drive,"  murmured  the  twelve-year-old  Dan, 
with  a  meaning  leer  at  Becky.  A  vivid  blush 
overspread  her  face  ;  she  dropped  her  eyelids 
and  squirmed  her  shapely  toes.  But  Mr.  Pinson 
was  absorbed  in  a  mute  recalculation,  which  end 
ed  presently  in  a  beat-out  whistle  and  a  mourn 
ful  shake  of  the  head. 

Mrs.  Pinson,  with  the  colicky  baby  laid  over 
her  shoulder,  was  jolting  her  rockerless  chair  to 
and  fro,  and  singing,  in  a  sweet,  drawling  under 
tone  : 


pa-art  n-o-o  m-o-o'!' 


"  Far-ye-well,  oh,  far-ye-well ; 
When  ye  git  to  hev-ven  ye  will 

She  interrupted  herself  to  observe,  quietly, 
"Ye  kin  tote  the  baby,  Beck;  an' I  kin  tote 
Joe  ;  an'  yo'  paw  he  kin  tote  Jed,  twel  we  git 
inside  the  tent.  They  ain't  no  charge  fer  chil 
dren  in  arms.  It  says  so." 

"  Lord,  Nance  !"  exclaimed  her  husband,  in 
an  ecstasy  of  admiration,  "ye  air  the  beatenes' 
white  woman  on  Jim-Ned  Creek  !  Thet  settles  it 
oncet  mo'!  Fetch  me  a  coal  fer  my  pipe,  Polly 
M'riar." 


4  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TKACK 

Becky  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  sank 
down  on  her  heels,  reaching  under  her  moth 
er's  chair  at  the  same  time  for  the  snuff- 
bottle. 

"  Will  they  be  a  eFphimt  ?"  persisted  Jed,  the 
tow-headed  boy  next  to  the  baby,  already  in  long 
trousers,  which  were  hitched  up  to  his  shoulders 
with  a  single  white  cotton  "gallus." 

"  Of  co'se.  They  is  al'uz  a  el'phunt  with  a 
circus,"  replied  his  father. 

"  I  'ain't  nuver  seen  no  circus,"  said  Mrs.  Pin- 
son,  in  jerks  between  the  long-drawn  swells  of 
her  mournful  lullaby. 

"  Xuther  hev  I,"  admitted  Newt;  "  but  I  jes 
natchly  know  that  ever'  circus  has  got  to  hev  a 
el'phunt  an'  a  clown." 

"  Didn'  I  tell  ye  so  !"  cried  Dan,  triumphantly, 
following  with  a  dirty  forefinger  the  head-lines 
of  the  poster.  "  Ain't  the  el'phunts  right  here, 
a-dancin'  an'  a  stan'in'  on  they  heads,  an'  a-roll- 
in'  o'  barrils  ?  An'  ez  f er  cloivns !  they  is  four 
mirth-pro-vo-king  clowns  in  this  here  show.  It 
says  so.  An'  five  beau-ti-ful  and  ac-com-plished 
lady  bare  -  back  riders ;"  and  he  continued  to 
spell  out  laboriously  the  manifold  and  unrivalled 
attractions  of  Riddler's  Mammoth  Circus  and 
Menagerie,  billed — for  one  performance  only — in 
Comanche  at  two  o'clock  P.M.,  Monday,  the  18th 
of  October.  Come  One.  Come  All. 

Becky,  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  stared  at 
him,  shifting  the  brush  uneasily  from  one  corner 
of  her  mouth  to  the  other.  "  Like  ez  not,"  she 
broke  out,  abruptly,  "  Brother  Skaggs  '11  preach 


AN   ELEPHANT  8  TRACK 


agin  it  nex'  Sunday.  Sho's  yo'  bawn,  Brother 
Skaggs  air  a-goin  ter  preach  agin  it." 

Mrs.  Pinson  stopped  singing  ;  Polly  Maria  and 
the  boys  turned  stricken  faces  upon  their  father. 

His  eyes  twinkled  under  their  bushy  red  brows, 
but  his  voice  was  decorously  sober  as  he  drawled  : 
"  Brother  Skaggs  hes  gone  to  Conf  unce,  an'  he 
won't  be  back  twel  Sat'day  week.  Ye  min', 
Nance/7  he  continued,  "  it  air  thirty-one  mile  to 
town,  an'  ef  we  lay  to  git  ther  in  time  fer  the 
show  Monday,  we  got  to  camp  somewhers  'bout 
Blanket  Sunday  night." 

"  Jes  to  think  o'  me  goin'  to  town  oncet  mo'!" 
said  Mrs.  Pinson,  meditatively,  that  night,  when 
she  and  Becky  were  getting  supper  in  the  brush 
arbor  behind  the  cabin.  "  I  'ain't  been  sence  you 
was  a  baby,  Beck.  Yo'  paw  an'  me  went  to  Wash 
DingwalFs  infair — he  died  with  his  boots  on  four 
year  ago  ;  an'  Tempunce  Loo — thet's  his  widder 
— she's  married  agin  to  Bijy  Green.  I  rid  behin' 
him,  an'  he  toted  you  on  his  lap.  Town  folks  air 
mighty  bigaty,"  she  added,  warningly  ;  "  V  ye 
mus'  do  up  thet  pu'ple  caliker  o'  yourn,  Beck,  an' 
put  on  yo'  shoes  an'  stockin's." 

"  Seems  lak  fo'  days  won't  nuver  go,"  fretted 
Beck,  "  an'  ole  Baldy  air  sho  to  lame  hisse'f,  or 
sump'ii'.  It's  alluz  that  a-way  whence  a  body  air 
plumb  sot  on  doin'  a  thing." 

But  the  four  days  did  go,  and  when  the  event 
ful  Sunday  afternoon  came,  old  Baldy,  unusual 
ly  sound  and  spirited,  was  with  Jinny,  the  gaunt 
gray  mule,  harnessed  to  the  wagon  ;  the  patched 
and  dingy  cover  was  drawn  over  the  bows,  a 


G  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

bundle  or  two  of  fodder  and  a  few  ears  of  corn 
were  thrown  into  the  hinder  part,  and  Mr.  Pin- 
son  drove  gayly  alongside  of  the  rail -fence  in 
front  of  the  cabin.  The  rickety  house  door  was 
drawn  to  with  a  rock  behind  it  to  keep  it  shut. 
A  couple  of  chairs  were  handed  up  for  Mrs.  Pin- 
son  and  Becky,  and  they  clambered  in  with  the 
baby.  The  yellow  cotton  poke,  well  stuffed 
with  corn-bread  and  bacon,  and  the  battered  cof 
fee-pot  and  frying-pan,  were  stowed  under  the 
chairs.  Polly  Maria  and  the  boys  sat  on  a  quilt 
spread  over  the  sweet-smelling  fodder ;  Eove, 
Ring,  and  Spot,  the  lean,  long  -  eared  brown 
hounds,  yelped  and  whined  against  the  wheels. 

They  jolted  away,  serious,  as  became  a  perfess- 
in'  fambly  on  a  Sunday,  but  full  of  inward  ex 
citement.  At  night  they  camped  on  the  pecan- 
fringed  banks  of  Rastler's,  and  were  off  betimes 
in  the  morning.  But  not  too  soon  to  find  the 
road  lively  with  friends  and  acquaintances  from 
all  the  settlements  around,  bound  on  the  same 
joyous  errand  as  themselves.  They  passed  Joe 
Holder,  with  his  wife  and  sister-in-law  and  the 
thirteen  children  of  the  two  families,  creaking 
along  in  a  huge  freighter's  wagon  drawn  by  five 
yoke  of  gaunt,  wide  -  horned  oxen  ;  they  were 
overtaken  and  outstripped  by  a  noisy  squad  of 
girls  and  young  men  on  horseback  from  the  Fork 
Valley  neighborhood  ;  they  kept  within  hailing 
distance  for  a  dozen  miles  or  more  of  old  Daddy 
Gardenbrier  and  his  wife,  riding  double  on  their 
blind  yellow  mare.  The  Mount  Zion  folks,  they 
heard,  were  ahead  of  them  by  some  hours,  and  an 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  7 

impatient  youngster  who  trotted  by  on  a  paint 
pony  threw  over  his  shoulder  the  information 
that  the  Big  Puddle  lay-out  was  coming  on  be 
hind. 

"  Lord,  Nance  !"  Mr.  Pinson  exclaimed  more 
than  once  that  morning,  "  I  wouldn't  of  took  five 
dollars  to  of  stayed  at  home." 

"  Nuther  would  I,  Newt/'  Mrs.  Pinson  as  often 
returned,  with  a  kind  of  solemn  delight  on  her 
thin,  sallow  face. 

The  long  reaches  of  post-oak  "rough"  were 
heavy  with  sand  ;  the  shinn-oak  prairies  between 
were  a  tangle  of  roots  that  zigzagged  across  the 
road,  and  made  progress  slow  and  painful ;  the 
abrupt  banks  of  the  frequent  " dry  creeks"  were 
steep  ;  the  October  sun  was  hot ;  and  by  noon 
old  Baldy  had  become  utterly  dispirited.  He  had, 
moreover,  fallen  a  little  lame,  and  he  moved  de 
jectedly  along  by  Jinny,  who  long  ago  had  flopped 
her  big  ears  downward  in  sign  of  weariness  and 
discontent. 

The  Pinsons  under  the  dingy  wagon  cover  were 
wellnigh  speechless  with  impatience. 

Suddenly  Dan  stood  up,  knocking  his  head 
against  the  low  wagon  bows.  "  Jes  over  yan," 
he  declared,  "pas'  one  little  bit  o'  shinn-oak 
prery,  an'  crost  a  dry  creek,  an'  up  a  hill,  is 
town."  Dan  had  been  to  town  once  with  Sam 
Leggett  to  lay  out  his  long-hoarded  egg  money 
in  a  four-bladed  knife  and  a  pair  of  store  sus 
penders. 

Polly  Maria,  slim  and  thin-legged,  standing  up 
beside  him,  pitched  backward  into  the  fodder  as 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  THACK 


the  wagon  came  to  a  sudden  halt  behind  a  group 
of  dismounted  horsemen,  who,  with  their  bridles 
over  their  arms,  were  squatting  down,  apparently 
searching  for  something  in  a  half-dried  mud-pud 
dle  to  the  right  of  the  road.  "Hullo,  Jack  !" 
called  Mr.  Pinson  ;  "  what  ye  lost  ?"  One  of  the 
men  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "  Hy're,  Xewt  ? 
Howdy,  Mis'  Pinson  ?"  he  cried,  springing  to  his 
feet  and  coming  back  to  the  side  of  the  wagon, 
where  he  shook  hands  all  around.  "  We  'ain't 
lost  nothin',"  he  went  on,  putting  a  foot  up  on 
the  hub  of  the  front  wheel  and  resting  his  arms 
on  the  hot  tire;  "  we've  found  sump'n',  though, 
you  bet  !  A  genooine  elephant  track  in  the  sof 
mud  yonder,  plain  as  daylight,  an'  no  mistake." 

Polly  Maria  and  the  boys  scrambled  in  hot 
haste  over  the  tail-board.  Mr.  Pinson  threw 
down  the  reins,  and  held  the  baby  while  Becky 
and  her  mother  jumped  out. 

"  Wish  I  may  die  ef  it  ain't  a  el'phunt  track 
sho !"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  joined  the 
wondering  circle  gathered  about  the 'huge  foot 
print. 

"It  looks  to  me  lak  ez  ef  it  were  hine-side 
afore  somehow,"  said  Mrs.  Pinson,  timidly. 

"I  have  just  been  explaining  to  Mr.  Jack  Cy- 
arter  here  and  these  other  gentlemen,  madam," 
said  Mr.  Tolliver,  the  old  Virginian  who  taught 
the  school  at  Ebenezer  Church,  "  that  it  is  a  fact 
in  natural  history  that  the  track  of  the  elephant 
always  presents  that  appearance."  He  removed 
his  hat  as  he  spoke,  and  made  an  old-fashioned 
courtly  bow. 


AN  ELEPHANT  S  TRACK 

"  Ye  don't  say  !"  murmured  Mrs.  Pinson,  over 
awed. 

Jack  Carter  and  his  friends  mounted  their 
horses  and  dashed  away,  followed  at  a  more  so 
ber  pace  by  Mr.  Tolliver  on  his  slab-sided  plough- 
mule. 

The  Pinsons  climbed  back  to  their  places  and 
jogged  on,  across  the  bit  o'  prery  and  over  the 
dry  creek — where  they  came  near  getting  stalled 
— and  up  the  hill.  On  its  crest  Newt  Pinson  in 
voluntarily  drew  up.  "  By  jing  !  this  beats  me!" 
he  ejaculated,  with  widening  eyes.  The  square 
at  the  foot  of  the  slope  was  in  an  uproar.  Horses 
stood  nose  to  nose  around  the  court-house  fence, 
and  were  hitched  to  the  scraggy  mesquite-trees 
that  shaded  the  town  well.  The  dusty  streets 
leading  away  from  the  plaza  were  blocked  with 
wagons  little  and  big,  carts,  ambulances,  dilap 
idated  hacks,  high  -  swung  red  -  bodied  stages — 
every  imaginable  kind  of  vehicle  —  and  all  the 
intervening  spaces,  as  well  as  the  irregular  side 
walks  in  front  of  the  four  infacing  rows  of  stores, 
were  alive  with  men,  women,  and  children,  who 
elbowed  one  another,  whooping,  laughing,  gestic 
ulating — surging  about  in  a  state  of  the  wildest, 
best-natured  excitement.  Beyond  the  unpainted 
little  Baptist  church,  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
square,  the  circus  tents  were  visible.  Flags  and 
streamers  were  flying  from  their  poles,  and  a  van 
ishing  burst  of  music  came  floating  from  them 
up  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"This  beats  me!"  insisted  Mr.  Pinson  again. 
With  a  deep-drawn  breath  he  gathered  up  the 


10  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

ragged,  homespun  lines  and  drove  down  into  the 
square,  picking  his  way  dexterously  through  the 
crowd  until  he  halted  alongside  the  shaky  plat 
form  in  front  of  Bush  Gaines's  store.  "  Holloa 
agin,  Xewt —  that  you  ?"  grinned  Jack  Carter 
from  behind  the  counter  within,  where  he  was 
helping  himself  to  a  plug  of  tobacco.  "  You're 
jest  a  minit  too  late  to  see  the  procession.  It 
cert'uly  is  a  fine  show.  The  elephant  was  there, 
mighty  nigh  as  big  as  Ebenezer  Church.  An" 
such  a  clown  !  You'd  ha"  laughed  yourself  to 
death  to  ha'  seen  him.  His  breeches  are  more'n 
a  yard  wide,  and  he  'ain't  got  a  hair  on  his  head  !" 

"Ef  we  hadn't  of  stopped  to  look  at  the  el'- 
phunt's  track — "  began  ^ewt,  regretfully;  "but 
nuver  min',  Nance,  it  air  a  heap  better  to  see  it 
fust  off  fum  the  inside." 

"  Oh,  a  heap  better,"  responded  Mrs.  Pinson, 
with  cheerful  alacrity.  Bush  Gaines,  measuring 
off  some  jeans  for  a  Mount  Zion  matron,  called 
to  Newt  to  bring  his  fambly  in  the  sto'  an'  set 
down,  an'  pass  the  time  o'  day.  But  after  a 
brief  consultation  with  his  wife,  during  which 
Becky  took  mental  note  of  some  town  girls  in 
looped  overskirts  and  bangs  —  an  observation 
which  bore  fruit  at  the  next  Quarterly  Meeting — 
Mr.  Pinson  declined  with  thanks,  and  drove  on 
to  the  town  well — all  but  gone  dry  from  the  ex 
cessive  strain  put  upon  it — where  Dan  and  Pete 
watered  the  team. 

Afterwards  they  crossed  the  square  and  stopped 
by  the  Baptist  church,  in  full  view  of  the  circus 
tents,  whence  arose  at  that  moment  a  prolonged 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  11 

and  sullen  roar.  "  They're  feedin'  of  the  nan- 
nimals,"  explained  Mr.  Pinson,  in  a  familiar,, 
off-hand  sort  of  way,  whereat  Mrs.  Pinsoii  shud 
dered  and  hugged  the  sleeping  baby  closer  to 
her  bosom. 

Old  Baldy  and  Jinny  were  unhitched  and  fed 
from  the  trough  at  the  back  of  the  wagon ;  the 
panting  dogs  lay  down  in  the  shade  of  the 
church ;  the  children  had  a  snack  all  around  out 
of  the  yellow  poke,  and  Becky  and  her  mother 
fetched  out  the  chairs  and  sat  down  to  "have 
a  dip." 

"  It  air  a  hafPn  hour  yit  twel  the  do's  is  open/' 
said  Mr.  Pinson,  finally.  "  Jes  you  an'  the  chil- 
dern  stay  right  here,  Nance.  I'm  goin'  to  tramp 
down  to  the  pos'-office  an'  git  the  las'  'lection 
news,  an'  sich.  I'll  be  back  the  minit  it  air  time, 
an'  min'  you  all  be  ready,  less'n  we  don't  git  no 
seats." 

Mrs.  Pinson  nodded,  and  he  strolled  away. 
"  This  here  beats  me,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself. 
Comanche  was  indeed  in  an  unwonted  state  of 
excitement.  Riddler's  was  the  first  circus  that 
had  ever  quitted  the  line  of  railway  and  vent 
ured  across  the  long  sandy  reaches  of  post -oak 
rough  to  the  little  isolated  town  in  West  Texas. 
And  the  whole  surrounding  country  had  pulled 
to  its  doors  like  the  Pinsons,  and  responded  to 
the  invitation  of  the  huge  posters  :  "  Come  One. 
Come  All." 

Newt's  progress  was  slow,  owing  to  frequent 
encountering  of  neighbors  and  the  necessity  of 
inquiring  after  the  health  of  their  families.  He 


12  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

did  at  last,  however,  reach  the  post-office,  a  ram 
shackle  building  next  to  the  blacksmith  shop. 
As  he  turned  the  corner  he  came  upon  a  cake- 
and-lemonade  stand.  His  hand  went  instantly 
down  into  his  pocket,  and  came  up  with  the  ex 
tra  fifteen  cents,  which  he  exchanged  for  three 
solid  slabs  of  mahogany  -  colored  gingerbread. 
"  Fer  Nance  an"  the  childern,"  he  explained,  as 
the  woman  in  charge  wrapped  up  his  purchase. 
The  bleary  old  creature  looked  at  him  with  a 
sudden  kindly  smile,  and  slipped  a  stick  of  pep 
permint  candy  into  the  parcel. 

With  one  foot  on  the  post-office  step  he  paused 
to  look  at  a  man  who  had  planted  a  gigantic  yel 
low  umbrella  out  in  the  dusty  square,  and  stand 
ing  bareheaded  beneath  it,  was  yelling  some  un 
intelligible  jargon  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.  Mr. 
Pinsoii  hurried  over  and  joined  the  ring  of  gap 
ing  spectators.  On  a  bit  of  board  in  the  shad 
ow  of  the  umbrella  a  couple  of  odd  little  mario 
nettes  of  colored  metal  were  circling  in  a  kind  of 
grotesque  waltz.  "  Lots  of  fun  for  twenty-five 
cents  I"  shouted  the  showman,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  touch  up  the  figures  with  a  stubby  fore 
finger.  "Lots  of  fun  for  twenty-five  cents  !  The 
greatest  toy  invented  in  this  age  or  any  other. 
So  simple  that  a  crawling  child  cannot  fail  to 
manage  it !  Those  who  know  the  trick  will  please 
say  nothing.  Cheap,  gentlemen,  for  twenty-five 
cents.  Oh,  I  see  the  gentleman  is  going  to  buy  !" 

Newt  grinned  and  shook  his  head  regretfully. 

"  One  for  one,  two  for  two,  three  gets  the  half 
a  doll'dli !"  bawled  another  individual  who  had  set 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  13 

up  a  table  near-by  covered  with  wooden  ninepins. 
Jack  Carter  and  his  crowd  were  throwing  at  these 
with  little  painted  balls.  A  cigar,  Jack  explained 
to  Newt,  was  the  reward  for  one  pin  knocked 
down  at  a  throw  ;  two  cigars  went  to  the  player 
who  knocked  down  two  ;  while  the  Incky  thrower 
who  succeeded  in  knocking  down  three  received 
fifty  cents.  "  One  for  one,  two  for  two,  three  gets 
the  half  a  cMlah/'went  on  the  proprietor,  mo 
notonously.  "  Three  throws  for  five  cents.  Step 
up,  gentlemen,  and  try  your  luck  !  For  a  nickel ! 
One  for  one,  two  for  two,  three  gets  the  half  a 
r?o/lah  \" 

"  Lord  !  ef  I  hadn't  of  bought  this  durned 
ginger-cake  \"  groaned  Mr.  Pinson  in  spirit,  gath 
ering  the  paper  parcel  more  securely  under  his 
arm  and  moving  on  with  the  crowd. 

A  step  or  two  brought  him  to  an  open  wagon 
from  which  a  patent-medicine  man  was  holding 
forth.  "  Try  the  remedy,"  he  whined,  nourish 
ing  a  stout  black  bottle  and  a  pewter  spoon. 
"Cures  all  diseases  !  Try  the  remedy  !  Admin 
istered  free  of  charge  to  any  one  in  the  crowd. 
This  superb  bottle  filled  with  the  remedy,  only 
fifty  cents.  The  wise  man  tries,  the  fool  dies. 
Try  the  remedy  !" 

"  This  here  beats  me,"  murmured  Newt,  me 
chanically  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  fore 
head  and  backing  against  the  court-house  fence, 
where  he  leaned,  fairly  exhausted  with  the  varie 
ty  and  novelty  of  his  emotions.  "  The  haff'n  hour 
mus'  be  nigh 'bout  up.  Dinged  ef  I  ain't  glad," 
he  continued,  letting  the  crowd  drift  on  with- 


14  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

out  him  to  where  the  health-lift  man  was  exhort 
ing  the  cautious  ranchmen  to  "  try  the  machine  ; 
try  the  wonderful  machine,  gentlemen,  EXVQ\- 
lent  for  the  constitootion  !  Only  five  cents  a  trial. 
Try.  the  machine  ;"  and  the  reckless  cowboys 
were  emptying  their  pockets  at  the  invitation  of 
the  vender  of  prize-boxes. 

"  Curious  game  that,  sir,"  said  a  smooth  voice 
at  his  elbow.  He  looked  around,  startled.  A 
seedy  but  respectable  -  looking  personage  was 
standing  by  him  with  his  arms  crossed  on  the 
low  fence.  He  jerked  his  head  as  he  spoke  tow 
ards  a  little  knot  of  men  hanging  around  the  stile- 
steps  leading  into  the  weed  -  grown  court  -  house 
yard. 

Newt  walked  over  and  looked  on.  It  was  ti 
simple-enough-looking  game  at  cards.  An  in 
nocent-faced  little  fellow  with  black  hair  and 
curly  mustache  was  manipulating  the  greasy 
deck.  The  bet  was  five  dollars.  Two  country 
men,  unknown  to  Newt,  with  suspiciously  stiff 
white  collars  above  their  coarse  hickory  shirts, 
and  scrupulously  clean  finger-nails,  won  succes 
sively  five  dollars,  and  the  dealer,  much  chagrined, 
seemed  on  the  point  of  giving  up. 

Newt  made  half  a  step  forward.  His  heart 
was  beating  violently  and  the  blood  was  surging 
in  his  ears.  "Fm  a  perfessin'  member/'  he 
argued  mentally  with  himself,  while  the  cards 
were  once  more  shuffled  and  spread  out,  "  yit 
it  air  jes'  'bout  the  easies'  thing  in  creation  to 
tell  which  one  of  them  cyards  air  the  right  one. 
An'  Nance  an'  me  '11  hev  mo'n  time  to  trade 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  15 

out  the  five  dollars  whence  the  show  air  over. 
Shucks  !" 

And  he  counted  out  and  laid  down  his  hand 
ful  of  dimes  and  nickels,  and  hazarded  a  bet. 
He  bent  forward  eagerly,  and  unconsciously 
stretched  forth  a  hand.  "This  here  monty  air 
a  mighty  deceivin'  game/'  remarked  the  black 
smith,  with  an  air  of  conviction,  as  the  dealer 
raked  Mr.  Pinson's  money  into  his  own  pocket 
and  walked  jauntily  away. 

Newt  turned  about,  half  dazed  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  whole  transaction,  and  bewildered  by 
the  jeers  of  the  by-standers.  Just  then,  how 
ever,  a  noisy  burst  of  music  from  the  circus  tents 
gave  the  signal  for  the  opening  of  the  doors  ;  a 
wild  rush  immediately  began  in  that  direction, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  square  was  deserted, 
except  by  the  patent  -  medicine  man  and  the 
owner  of  the  big  umbrella.  These  joked  each 
other  loudly,  and  slapped  significantly  their  sil 
ver-weighted  pockets. 

Newt  passed  them  with  his  head  bent,  heed 
less  of  the  sneering  laugh  which  they  sent  after 
him.  As  he  approached  the  church  he  saw  that 
Becky  had  the  baby  ;  she  was  holding  him  up 
and  smoothing  the  pink  calico  skirts  over  his 
fat  white  legs.  Mrs.  Pinson  looked  at  him  with 
an  unwonted  sparkle  in  her  solemn  black  eyes  as 
he  drew  near,  and  lifted  the  chunky  Jed  in  her 
arms.  "She  looks  lak  she  did  whence  I  war 
a-courthr5  of  her,"  he  thought,  with  a  sore  pang. 
Joe  plunged  towards  him  with  a  joyous  whoop. 
"Hurry,  paw,  hurry!"  screamed  Polly  Maria; 


16  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

"  we  ain't  agoin'  to  git  no  seats  lessen  we  hurry." 
He  put  Joe  aside  roughly  and  strode  on  to  his 
wife.  His  face  was  set  and  hard,  though  his 
mouth  twitched  convulsively. 

(( Lord-a-mighty,  Newt  Pinson,  what  ails  ye  ?" 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Pinson,  letting  Jed  slip  from  her 
arms. 

"  Nothin'  ain't  ailin'  me  ez  I  knows  on/'  he 
returned,  in  a  dry,  harsh  voice  ;  "we  got  to  go 
back  home  'thout  seein'  o'  the  show,  thet's  all. 
I  done  bet  away  ever'  cent  of  ourn  an'  the  chil- 
dern's  circus  money  on  a  fool  game  o'  cyards — 
yander.  Oh  Lord  !"  he  ended  with  a  groan.  A 
single  wild  wail  burst  from  Polly  Maria  and  the 
boys.  Then  they  huddled  against  their  moth 
er's  skirts  in  mute  agony. 

A  faint  flush  passed  over  Mrs.  Pinson's  thin 
face  and  the  light  faded  from  her  dark  eyes. 

"  'Tain't  no  diffunce,  Newt,"  she  said,  lightly, 
catching  the  baby  from  Becky's  limp  and  nerve 
less  arms.  "  Jes  ye  hitch  up,  quick  ez  ye  kin, 
an'  le's  get  outn  this  here  bigaty  town.  Me  an' 
the  childern  air  plumb  beat  out  wi'  these  stuck- 
up  town  folks,  anyhow !" 

Newt  stared  at  her  in  silence,  and  slouched 
away.  Her  gaze  followed  him  to  the  rear  of  the 
wagon  ;  when  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of  her 
voice  she  whirled  around  and  blazed  in  a  threat 
ening  half  -  whisper  :  "  Ef  ary  one  o'  ye  says  a 
word  to  yer  paw  'bout  this  here  misfortin  o'  hisn, 
or  'bout  hankerin'  a'ter  the  show  ;  er  ef  ary  one 
o'  ye  ain't  thet  gamesome  an'  lively,  lak  ez  ef  they 
wa'n't  no  sech  a  thing  ez  a  circus,  er  a  clown,  er 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  1< 

a  el'phunt  in  this  here  liviii'  woii' — slio's  ye  bawn 
I'll  shet  the  do"  in  Sam  Leggett's  face  an/  cow 
hide  the  balance  (/  ye  twel  ye  can't  set  down  fer 
a  week  !" 

Becky's  ruddy  cheeks  grew  pale.  "  Yes,  maw/' 
she  returned,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

"Yes,  maw/"  echoed  Polly  Maria  and  the 
boys,  stolidly,  not  without  squeezing  back  some 
ungamesome  tears,  however,  as  they  stood  in  a 
row  against  the  Baptist  church  and  watched 
their  father  bring  around  Jinny  and  old  Baldy. 

Had  they  only  known  it,  they  might  have  seen 
while  they  waited,  the  Liliputian  Lady  and  the 
Fat  Woman  go  by  in  a  shaky  hack  with  torn 
curtains,  and  descend  before  the  painted  flaps 
of  one  of  the  side  shows.  But  they  did  not 
know. 

The  wagon  was  turned  around  ;  they  climbed 
over  the  wheels  and  settled  themselves  under  the 
dingy  cover.  As  they  moved  slowly  across  the 
silent  square  a  tremendous  shout  from  the  spec 
tators  within  the  tent,  and  a  pompous  fanfare 
from  the  brass-band,  announced  that  the  Grand 
Entry  had  begun. 

Newt  stalked  along  beside  the  tired  team 
downcast  and  miserable.  "I've  even  fergot 
wher'  I  lef  the  childem's  ginger-cake,"  he  mut 
tered  to  himself,  as  his  mind  went  over  and  over 
the  incidents  of  that  fatal  half  n  hour. 

A  curious  hilarity  prevailed  that  night  around 
the  little  camp-fire.  Mrs.  Pinson,  usually  silent 
almost  to  taciturnity,  had  become  all  at  once 
loquacious.  She  painted  to  the  family  circle  in 


18  AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK 

glowing  colors  the  pride  and  wickedness  of  town 
folks ;  she  pictured  the  denunciatory  wrath  of 
Brother  Skaggs  when  he  should  learn  that  per- 
fessm'  members  of  Ebenezer  Church  had  been  in 
side  of  a  circus  tent ;  she  related  the  experience 
of  sundry  sinners  who  had  been  overtaken  by 
divine  vengeance  while  in  the  very  act  of  laugh 
ing  at  the  antics  of  a  clown  ;  she  even  lifted  up 
her  voice  and  sang  some  particularly  flame-and- 
brimstone-promising  hymn  tunes.  Becky,  mind 
ful  of  Sam  Leggett  away  off  in  Kansas,  seconded 
her  efforts  to  keep  the  general  cheerfulness  up 
to  a  proper  pitch.  If  it  showed  signs  of  flagging, 
however,  a  warning  look,  shot  from  beneath  their 
mother's  drooping  eyelids,  acted  like  a  charm  on 
Polly  Maria  and  the  boys. 

Newt,  who  at  first  sat  mournfully  hugging  his 
knees  and  gazing  into  space,  presently  caught 
the  infection  himself,  and  when,  finally,  he  un 
rolled  a  patch-quilt  and  threw  himself  thereon, 
closing  his  eyes  in  peaceful  slumber,  it  was  al 
most  with  the  conviction  that  the  five  dollars 
had  been  well  lost  in  keeping  a  perfessin'  fambly 
out  of  the  worldly  and  soul -destroying  circus 
tent. 

Mrs.  Pinson,  sitting  alone  by  the  smouldering 
fire  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  looked  at  his  un 
conscious  face  upturned  in  the  dim  moonlight ; 
her  gaze  travelled  slowly  from  one  muffled,  indis 
tinct  form  huddled  under  the  shadow  of  the  wag 
on,  to  another ;  she  sighed  heavily,  and  her  face 
relapsed  into  its  usual  sombre  expression.  "I 
wisht — "  she  muttered  ;  then  after  a  long  pause, 


AN  ELEPHANT'S  TRACK  19 

as  she  stretched  herself  on  the  quilt  beside  her 
slumbering  spouse  and  wrapped  the  baby's  feet 
in  tin  old  shawl,  she  concluded  with  a  little  touch 
of  triumph  in  her  whispered  tones,  "  Anyhow,  I 
hev  seen  the  eFphunt's  track  \" 


A    SNIPE -HUNT 

A  STORY   OF   JIM-^ED   CREEK 


"I  AIN'T  sayin'  nothin'  ag'inst  the  women  o' 
Jim-Ned  Creek  ez  women,"  said  Mr.  Pinson  ; 
"  an"  what's  more,,  I'll  spit  on  my  hands  an'  lay 
out  any  man  ez  '11  dassen  to  sass  'em.  But  ez 
ivives  the  women  o'  Jim-Ned  air  the  outbeaten- 
es'  critters  in  creation  !" 

These  remarks,  uttered  in  an  oracular  tone, 
were  received  with  grave  approbation  by  the  half 
a  dozen  idlers  gathered  about  the  mesquite  fire 
in  Bishop's  store.  Old  Bishop  himself,  sorting 
over  some  trace  -  chains  behind  the  counter, 
nodded  grimly,  and  then  smiled,  his  wintry  face 
grown  suddenly  tender. 

"  You've  shore  struck  it,  Newt/'  assented  Joe 
Trimble.  "  You  never  kin  tell  how  ary  one  of 
'em  '11  ack  under  any  succumstances." 

Jack  Carter  and  Sid  Northcutt,  the  only 
bachelors  present,  grinned  and  winked  slyly  at 
each  other. 


A  SNIPE-HUNT  21 

"Yon  boys  neenter  be  so  brash/'  drawled  Mr. 
Pinson's  son-in-law,  Sam  Leggett,  from  his  perch 
on  a  barrel  of  pecans  ;  "  jest  you  wait  ontell 
Minty  Cullum  an'  Loo  Slater  gits  a  tight  holt  ! 
Them  gals  is  ez  meek  ez  lambs— now.  But  so 
was  Mis'  Pinson  an'  Mis'  Trimble  in  their  day  an' 
time,  I  reckon.  I  know  Becky  Leggett  was." 

"The  studdies'-goin'  woman  on  Jim-Ned/' 
continued  Mr.  Pinson,  ignoring  these  interrup 
tions,  "  is  Mis'  Cullum.  An'  yit,  Tobe  Cullum 
ain't  no  safeter  than  anybody  else — considerin* 
of  Sissy  Cullum  ez  a  wife  !" 

Mr.  Trimble  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  shut 
them  again  hastily,  looking  a  little  scared,  and 
an  awkward  silence  fell  on  the  group. 

For  the  shadow  of  Mrs.  Cullum  herself  had 
advanced  through  the  wide  doorway,  and  lay 
athwart  the  puncheon  floor  ;  and  that  lady,  a 
large,  comfortable-looking,  middle-aged  person, 
with  a  motherly  face  and  a  kindly  smile,  after  a 
momentary  survey  of  the  scene  before  her, 
walked  briskly  in.  She  shook  hands  across  the 
counter  with  the  storekeeper,  and  passed  the 
time  of  day  all  around. 

Bud  Hines,  the  new  clerk,  shuffled  forward 
eagerly  to  wait  on  her.  Bud  was  a  sallow-faced, 
thin-chested,  gawky  youth  from  the  States,  who 
had  wandered  into  these  parts  in  search  of  health 
and  employment.  He  was  not  yet  used  to  the 
somewhat  drastic  ways  of  Jim-Ned,  and  there 
was  a  homesick  look  in  his  watery  blue  eyes  ;  he 
smiled  bashfully  at  her  while  he  measured  off 
calico  and  weighed  sugar,  and  he  followed  her 


22  A  SNIPE-HUNT 

out  to  the  horse-block  when  she  had  concluded 
her  lengthy  spell  of  shopping. 

"  You  better  put  on  a  thicker  coat,  Bud," 
she  said,  pushing  back  her  sun-bonnet  and  look 
ing  down  at  him  from  the  saddle  before  she 
moved  off.  "  You've  got  a  rackety  cough.  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to  make  you  some  mullein 
surrup." 

"  Oh,  Mis'  Cullum,  don't  trouble  yourself 
about  me,"  Mr.  Bines  cried,  gratefully,  a  lump 
rising  in  his  throat  as  he  watched  her  ride  away. 

The  loungers  in  the  store  had  strolled  out  on 
the  porch.  "  Mis'  Cullum  cert'n'y  is  a  sister  in 
Zion,"  remarked  Mr.  Trimble,  gazing  admiringly 
at  her  retreating  figure. 

"  M  -  m  -  m — y  -  e  -  e  -  s,"  admitted  Mr.  Pinson. 
"  But,"  he  added,  darkly,  after  a  meditative 
pause,  "  Sissy  Cullum  is  a  wife,  an'  the  women 
o'  Jim-Ned,  ez  ivives,  air  liable  to  conniptions." 

Mrs.  Cullum  jogged  slowly  along  the  brown, 
wheel-rifted  road  which  followed  the  windings 
of  the  creek.  It  was  late  in  November.  A 
brisk  little  norther  was  blowing,  and  the  nuts 
dropping  from  the  pecan-trees  in  the  hollows 
filled  in  the  dusky  stillness  with  a  continuous 
rattling  sound.  There  was  a  sprinkling  of  belat 
ed  cotton  bolls  on  the  stubbly  fields  to  the  right 
of  the  road  ;  a  few  ragged  sunflowers  were  still 
abloom  in  the  fence  corners,  where  the  poke- 
berries  were  red-ripe  on  their  tall  stalks. 

( ( I  must  lay  in  some  poke  root  for  Tobe's 
knee-j'ints,"  mused  Mrs.  Cullum,  as  she  turned 
into  the  lane  which  led  to  her  own  door-yard. 


YOU    BETTER   PUT    ON    A    THICKER    COAT,    BUD 


A  SNIPE-HUNT  23 

"  Pore  Tobe  !  them  f  hits  o'  his'n  is  mighty  on- 
certain.  Why,  Tobe  I"  she  exclaimed  aloud,  as 
her  nag  stopped  and  neighed  a  friendly  greet 
ing  to  the  object  of  her  own  solicitude,  "where 
air  you  bound  for  ?" 

Mr.  Cullum  laid  an  arm  across  the  horse's 
neck.  He  was  a  big,  loose- jointed  man,  with 
iron-gray  hair,  square  jaws,  and  keen,  steady,  dark 
eyes.  "Well,  ma,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  re 
luctance  in  his  dragging  tones,  "  there's  a  lodge 
meetin'  at  Ebenezer  Church  to-night,  an'  I  got 
Minty  to  give  me  my  supper  early,  so's  I  could 
go.  I- 

"  All  right,  Tobe,"  interrupted  his  wife,  cheer 
fully  :  "  a  passel  of  men  prancin'  around  with  a 
goat  oncet  a  month  ain't  much  harm,  I  reckon. 
You  go  'long,  honey  ;  I'll  set  up  for  you." 

"  Sissy  is  that  soft  an'  innercent  an'  mild," 
muttered  Mr.  Cullum,  striding  away  in  the  gath 
ering  twilight,  "  that  a  suckin'  baby  could  wrop 
her  aroun'  its  finger — much  lessen  me  !" 

About  ten  o'clock  the  same  night  Granny 
Games,  peeping  through  a  chink  in  the  wall 
beside  her  bed,  saw  a  squad  of  men  hurring  afoot 
down  the  road  from  the  direction  of  Ebezener 
Church.  "  Them  boys  is  up  to  some  devilmint, 
Uncle  Dick,"  she  remarked,  placidly,  to  her 
rheumatic  old  husband. 

Uncle  Dick  laughed  a  soft,  toothless  laugh. 
"  I  ain't  begrudgin'  'em  the  fun,"  he  sighed, 
turning  on  his  pillow,  "  but  I  wisht  to  the  Lord  I 
was  along  !" 

The  "  boys  "  crossed  the  creek  below  Bishop's 


24  A   SNIPE-HUNT 

and  entered  the  shinn-oak  prairie  on  the  farther 
side. 

"Nance  ast  mighty  particular  about  the  lodge 
meeting"  observed  Newt  Pinson  to  Mr.  Cullum, 
who  headed  the  nocturnal  expedition  ;  "she 
know'd  it  wa'n't  the  regular  night,  an'  she  suspi- 
cioned  sompn,  Nance  did." 

"  Sissy  didn't,"  laughed  Tobe,  complacently. 
"Sissy  is  that  soft  an'  innercent  an'  mild  that 
a  suckin'  baby  could  wrop  her  aroun'  its  finger 
— much  lessen  me  !" 

Bud  Hmes,  in  the  rear  with  the  others,  was  in 
a  quiver  of  excitement.  He  stumbled  along, 
shifting  Sid  Northcutt's  rifle  from  one  shoulder 
to  the  other,  and  listening  open-mouthed  to  Jack 
Carter's  directions.  "You  know,  Bud,"  said 
that  young  gentleman,  gravely,  "  it  ain't  every 
man  that  gets  a  chance  to  go  on  a  snipe-hunt. 
And  if  you've  got  any  grit — 

"  I've  got  plenty  of  it,"  interrupted  Mr.  Hines, 
vaingloriously.  He  was,  indeed,  inwardly — and 
outwardly  —  bursting  with  pride.  "  I  thought 
they  tuk  me  for  a  plumb  fool,"  he  kept  saying 
over  and  over  to  himself.  "  They  'ain't  never 
noticed  me  before  'cepn  to  make  fun  of  me  ;  an' 
all  at  oncet  Mr.  Tobe  Cullum  an'  Mr.  Newt  Pin- 
son  ups  an'  asts  me  to  go  on  a  snipe-hunt,  an' 
even  p'oposes  to  give  me  the  best  place  in  it. 
An'  I've  got  Mr.  Sid's  rifle,  an'  Mr.  Jack  is  tell- 
in'  of  me  how  !  Lord,  I  wouldn't  of  believed  it 
ef  I  wa'n't  right  here  !  Won't  ma  be  proud  when 
I  write  her  about  it !" 

"You've  got  to   whistle  all   the   time,"  Jack 


A   SNIPE-HUNT  25 

continued,  breaking  in  upon  these  blissful  reflec 
tions  ;  "  if  you  don't,  they  won't  come/' 

"  Oh,  I'll  whistle,"  declared  Bud,  jauntily. 

Sam  Leggett's  snigger  was  dexterously  turned 
into  a  cough  by  a  punch  in  his  ribs  from  Mr. 
Trimble's  elbow,  and  they  trudged  on  in  silence 
until  they  reached  Buck  Snort  Gully,  a  deep 
ravine  running  from  the  prairie  into  a  stretch 
of  heavy  timber  beyond,  known  as  The  Rough. 

Here  they  stopped,  and  Sid  Northcutt  pro 
duced  a  coarse  bag,  whose  mouth  was  held  open 
by  a  barrel  hoop,  and  a  tallow  candle,  which  he 
lighted  and  handed  to  the  elate  hunter.  "  Now, 
Bud,"  Mr.  Cullum  said,  when  the  bag  was  set  on 
the  edge  of  the  gully,  with  its  mouth  toward  the 
prairie,  "you  jest  scrooch  down  behind  this  here 
sack  an'  hold  the  candle.  You  kin  lay  the  rifle 
back  of  you,  in  case  a  wild-cat  or  a  cougar  prowls 
up.  An'  you  whistle  jest  as  hard  an'  as  continual 
as  you  can,  whilse  the  balance  of  us  beats  aroun' 
an'  drives  in  the  snipe.  They'll  run  fer  the 
candle  ever'  time.  An'  the  minit  that  sack  is  full 
of  snipe,  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  pull  out  the 
prop,  an'  they're  yourn." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Tobe," responded  Bud,  squat 
ting  down  and  clutching  the  candle,  his  face 
radiant  with  expectation. 

The  crowd  scattered,  and  for  a  few  moments 
made  a  noisy  pretence  of  beating  the  shinn-oak 
thickets  for  imaginary  snipe. 

"Keep  a-whisslin',  Bud  !"  Mr.  Cullum  shout 
ed,  from  the  far  edge  of  the  prairie. 

A  prolonged  whistle,  with  trills  and  flourishes, 


26  A  SNIPE-HUNT 

was  the  response  ;  and  the  conspirators,  bursting 
with  restrained  laughter,  plunged  into  the  ford 
and  separated,  making  each  for  his  own  fireside. 

Mrs.  Cullum  was  nodding  over  the  hearth 
stone  when  her  husband  came  in.  The  six  girls, 
from  Minty — Jack  Carter's  buxom  sweetheart — 
to  Little  Sis,  the  baby,  were  along  abed.  The 
hands  of  the  wooden  clock  on  the  high  mantel 
shelf  pointed  to  half-past  twelve.  "Well,  pa," 
Sissy  said,  good  -  humoredly,  reaching  out  for 
the  shovel  and  beginning  to  cover  up  the  fire, 
"  you've  cavorted  pretty  late  this  time  !  What's 
the  matter  ?"  she  added,  suspiciously;  "you  ack 
like  you've  been  drinkin' !" 

For  Tobe  was  rolling  about  the  room  in  an 
ecstasy  of  uproarious  mirth. 

"  I  'ain't  teched  nary  drop,  Sissy,"  Mr.  Cullum 
returned,  "  but  ever'  time  I  think  about  that  fool 
Bud  Hines  a-settin'  out  yander  at  Buck  Snort, 
holdin'  of  a  candle,  and  whisslin'  fer  snipe  to  run 
into  that  coffee-sack,  I — oh  Lord  !" 

He  stopped  to  slap  his  thighs  and  roar  again. 
Finally,  wiping  the  tears  of  enjoyment  from  his 
eyes,  he  related  the  story  of  the  night's  ad 
venture. 

"  Air  you  tellin'  me,  Tobe  Cullum,"  his  wife 
said,  when  she  had  heard  him  to  the  end — "  air 
you  p'intedly  tellin'  me  that  you've  took  Bud 
Hines  snipin*  ?  An'  that  you've  left  that  sickly, 
consumpted  young  man  a-settin'  out  there  by 
hisse'f  to  catch  his  death  of  cold  ;  or  maybe  git 
his  blood  sucked  out  by  a  catamount  !" 

"Shucks,  Sissy!  replied  Tobe  ;  "  nothin' ain't 


A  SNIPE-HUNT  27 

goin'  to  hurt  him.  He's  sech  a  denied  fool  that 
a  catamount  wouldn't  tech  him  with  a  ten-foot 
pole  !  An7  him  a-whisslin'  fer  them  snipe — oh 
Lord  !" 

"Tobe  Cullum,"  said  Mrs.  Cullum,  sternly, 
"you  go  saddle  Buster  this  minit  and  ride  out  to 
Buck  Snort  after  Bud  Hines." 

"Why,  honey—"  remonstrated  Tobe. 

"  Don't  you  honey  me/'  she  interrupted,  wrath- 
fully.  "  You  saddle  that  horse  this  minit  an' 
fetch  that  consumpted  boy  home." 

Tobe  ceased  to  laugh.  His  big  jaws  set  them 
selves  suddenly  square.  "I'll  do  no  sech  fool 
thing/'  he  declared,  doggedly,  "an'  have  the 
len'th  an'  brea'th  o'  Jim-Ned  makin'  fun  o'  me." 

"Very  well/'  said  his  wife,  with  equal  deter 
mination,  "ef  you  don't  go,  I  will.  But  I  give 
you  fair  warning  Tobe  Cullum,  that  ef  you  don't 
go,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again  whilse  my  head 
is  hot." 

Tobe  snorted  incredulously ;  but  he  sneaked 
out  to  the  stable  after  her,  and  when  she  had 
saddled  and  mounted  Buster,  he  followed  her  on 
foot,  running  noiselessly  some  distance  behind 
her,  keeping  her  well  in  sight,  and  dodging  into 
the  deeper  shadows  when  she  chanced  to  look 
around. 

"I  didn't  know  Cissy  had  so  much  spunk,"  he 
muttered,  panting  in  her  wake  at  last  across  the 
shinn-oak  prairie.  "  Lord,  how  blazin'  mad  she 
is  !  But  shucks  !  she'll  git  over  it  by  mornin'." 

Mr.  Hines  was  shivering  with  cold.  He  still 
whistled  mechanically,  but  the  hand  that  held 


28  A   SNIPE- HUNT 

the  sputtering  candle  shook  to  the  trip-hammer 
thumping  of  his  heart.  "  The  balance  of  'em 
must  of  got  lost,"  he  thought,  listening  to  the 
lonesome  howl  of  the  wind  across  the  prairie. 
"It's  too  c-cold  for  snipe,  I  reckon.  I  wisht  I'd 
stayed  at  home.  I  c-can't  w-whistle  any  longer/' 
he  whimpered  aloud,  dropping  the  candle-end, 
the  last  spark  of  courage  oozing  out  of  his  nerve 
less  fingers.  He  stood  up,  straining  his  eyes 
down  the  black  gully  and  across  the  dreary  waste 
around  him.  "  Mr.  T-o-o-be  !"  he  called,  feebly, 
and  the  wavering  echoes  of  his  voice  came  back 
to  him  mingled  with  an  ominous  sound.  "  Oh, 
Lordy  !  what  is  that?"  he  stammered.  He  sank 
to  the  ground,  grabbing  wildly  for  his  gun.  "  It's 
a  cougar  !  I  hear  him  trompin'  up  from  the 
creek  !  It's  a  c-cougar  !  He's  c-comin'  closter  ! 
Oh,  Lordy  !" 

"'Hello,  Bud!"  called  Mrs.  Oullum,  cheerily. 
She  slipped  from  the  saddle  as  she  spoke  and 
caught  the  half  -  fainting  snipe -hunter  in  her 
motherly  arms. 

"Ain't  you  'shamed  of  yourse'f  to  let  a  passel 
o'  no-'count  men  fool  you  this-a-way?"  she  de 
manded,  sternly,  when  he  had  somewhat  recov 
ered  himself.  "Get  up  behind  me.  I'm  goin' 
to  take  you  to  Mis'  Bishop's,  where  you  belong. 
No,  don't  you  dassen  to  tech  any  o'  that  trash  !" 

Mr.  Hines,  feeling  very  humble  and  abashed, 
climbed  up  behind  her,  and  they  rode  away,  leav 
ing  the  snipe-hunting  gear,  including  Sid  Korth- 
cutt's  valuable  rifle,  on  the  edge  of  the  gully. 

She  left  him  at  Bishop's,  charging  him  to  swal- 


THE  BALANCE   OP     EM   MUST  OF   GOT   LOST 


A   SNIPE- HUNT  29 

low  before  going  to  bed  a  "dost"  of  the  home 
brewed  chill  medicine  from  a  squat  bottle  she 
handed  him. 

"He  cert'n'y  is  weaker'n  stump-water,"  she 
murmured,  as  she  turned  her  horse's  head  ;  "  but 
he's  sickly  an'  consumpted,  an'  he's  jest  about  the 
age  my  Bud  would  of  been  if  he'd  lived." 

And  thinking  of  her  first-born  and  only  son, 
who  died-  in  babyhood,  she  rode  homeward  in  the 
dim,  chill  starlight.  Tobe,  spent  and  foot-sore, 
followed  warily,  carrying  the  abandoned  rifle. 


II 

Consternation  reigned  the  "  len'th  an'  brea'th  " 
of  Jim-Ned.  Mrs.  Cullum — placid  and  easy-go 
ing  Mrs.  Tobe — under  the  same  roof  with  him, 
actually  had  not  spoken  to  her  lawful  and.  wedded 
husband  since  the  snipe-hunt,  ten  days  ago  come 
Monday  ! 

"  It's  plumb  scan'lous  !"  Mrs.  Pinson  ex 
claimed,  at  her  daughter's  quilting.  "I  never 
would  of  thought  sech  a  thing  of  Sissy — never  !" 

"As  ef  the  boys  of  Jim-Ned  couldn't  have  a 
little  innercent  fun  without  Mis'  Cullum  settin' 
in  jedgment  on  'em  !"  sniffed  Mrs.  Leggett. 

"  Shet  up,  Becky  Leggett,"  said  her  mother, 
severely.  "  By  time  you've  put  up  with  a  man's 
capers  fer  twenty-five  years,  like  Sissy  Cullum 
have,  you'll  have  the  right  to  talk,  an'  not  before." 

"  They  say  Tobe  is  wellnigh  out'n  his  mind," 
remarked  Mrs.  Trimble.  "  Ez  fer  that  soft- 


30  A  SNIPE- HUNT 

headed  Bud  Hines,  he  have  fair  fattened  on  that 
snipe-hunt.  He's  gittin'  ez  sassy  an'  mischee- 
vous  ez  Jack  Carter  hisse'f." 

This  last  statement  was  literally  true.  The 
victim  of  Tobe  Cullum's  disastrous  practical  joke 
had  become  on  a  sudden  case  -  hardened,  as  it 
were.  The  consumptive  pallor  had  miraculously 
disappeared  from  his  cheeks  and  the  homesick 
look  from  his  eyes.  He  bore  the  merciless  chaf 
fing  at  Bishop's  with  devil-may-care  good-nature, 
and  he  besought  Mrs.  Cullom,  almost  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  to  "let  up  on  Mr.  Tobe." 

"I  was  sech  a  dern  fool,  Mis'  Cullum,"  he 
candidly  confessed,  "  that  I  don't  blame  Mr.  Tobe 
fer  puttin'  up  a  job  on  me.  Besides/'  he  added, 
his  eyes  twinkling  shrewdly,  "I'm  goin'  to  git 
even.  I'm  laying  off  to  take  Jim  Belcher,  that 
biggetty  drummer  from  Waco,  a-snipin'  out  Buck 
Snort  next  Sat'day  night.  He's  a  bigger  idjit 
than  ever  I  was." 

"You  ten'  to  your  own  business,  Bud,  an'  I'll 
ten'  to  mine,"  Mrs.  Cullum  returned,  not  un 
kindly.  Which  business  on  her  part  apparently 
was  to  make  Mr.  Cullum  miserable  by  taking  no 
notice  of  him  whatever.  The  house  under  her 
supervision  was,  as  it  had  always  been,  a  model 
of  neatness  ;  the  meals  were  cooked  by  her  own 
hands,  and  served  with  an  especial  eye  to  Tobe's 
comfort ;  his  clothes  were  washed  and  ironed, 
and  his  white  shirt  laid  out  on  Sunday  mornings, 
with  the  accustomed  care  and  regularity.  But 
with  these  details  Mrs.  Cullum's  wifely  atten 
tions  ended.  She  remained  absolutely  deaf  to 


A  SNIPE- HUNT  31 

any  remark  addressed  to  her  by  her  husband, 
looking  through  and  beyond  him  when  he  was 
present  with  a  steady  unseeing  gaze,  which  was, 
to  say  the  least,  exasperating.  All  necessary 
communication  with  him  was  carried  on  by  means 
of  the  children.  "Minty,"  she  would  say  at  the 
breakfast-table,  "  ask  your  pa  if  he  wants  another 
cup  of  coffee;"  or  at  night,  "Temp'unce,  tell 
your  pa  that  Buster  has  shed  a  shoe  ;"  or,  "  Sue, 
does  your  pa  know  where  them  well-grabs  is  ?" 
et  castera,  et  caetera. 

The  demoralized  household  huddled,  so  to 
speak,  between  the  opposing  camps,  frightened 
and  unhappy,  and  things  were  altogether  in  a 
bad  way. 

To  make  matters  worse,  Miss  Minty  Cullum, 
following  her  mother's  example,  took  high  and 
mighty  ground  with  Jack  Carter,  dismissing  that 
gentleman  with  a  promptness  and  coolness  which 
left  him  wellnigh  dumb  with  amazement. 

" Lord,  Minty!"  he  gasped.  "Why,  I  was 
taken  snipe-hunting  myself  not  more'n  five  years 
ago.  I-" 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  fool,  Jack 
Carter,"  interrupted  his  sweetheart,  with  a  toss 
of  her  pretty  head;  "that  settles  it !"  and  she 
slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 

Matters  were  at  such  a  pass  finally  that  Mr. 
Skaggs,  the  circuit-rider,  when  he  came  to  preach, 
the  third  Sunday  in  the  month,  at  Ebenezer 
Church,  deemed  it  his  duty  to  remonstrate  and 
pray  with  Sister  Cullum  at  her  own  house.  She 
listened  to  his  exhortations  in  grim  silence,  and 


A   SNIPE  -HUNT 


knelt  without  a  word  when  he  summoned  her  to 
wrestle  before  the  Throne  of  Grace.  "  Lord/' 
he  concluded,  after  a  long  and  powerful  sum 
ming  up  of  the  erring  sister's  misdeeds,  "Thou 
knowest  that  she  is  travelling  the  broad  and  flow 
ery  road  to  destruction.  Show  her  the  evil  of 
her  ways,  and  warn  her  to  flee  from  the  wrath 
to  come." 

He  arose  from  his  knees  with  a  look  of  satisfac 
tion  on  his  face,  which  changed  to  one  of  chagrin 
when  he  saw  Sister  Cullum's  chair  empty,  and 
Sister  Cullurn  herself  out  in  the  backyard  tran 
quilly  and  silently  feeding  her  hens. 

"  She  shore  did  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come, 
Sissy  did,"  chuckled  Granny  Games,  when  this 
episode  reached  her  ears. 

As  for  Tobe,  he  bore  himself  in  the  early  days 
of  his  affliction  in  a  jaunty,  debonair  fashion,  af 
fecting  a  sprightliness  which  did  not  deceive  his 
cronies  at  Bishop's.  In  time,  however,  finding  all 
his  attempts  at  reconciliation  with  Sissy  vain,  he 
became  uneasy,  and  almost  as  silent  as  herself, 
then  morose  and  irritable,  and  finally  black  and 
thunderous. 

"He's  that  wore  upon  that  nobody  dassent 
to  go  anigh  him,"  said  Mr.  Pinson,  solemnly. 
"An'  no  wonder!  Fer  of  all  the  conniptions 
that  ever  struck  the  women  o'  Jim  -Ned,  ez 
wives,  Sissy  Cullum's  conniptions  air  the  out- 
beateiies'." 

But  human  endurance  has  its  limits.  Mr.  Cul 
lum's  reached  his  at  the  supper-table  one  night 
about  three  weeks  after  the  beginning  of  his  dis- 


A  SNIPE-HUNT  33 

cipline.  He  had  been  ploughing  all  day,  and 
brooding,  presumably,  over  his  tribulations,  and 
there  was  a  techy  look  in  his  dark  eyes  as  he  seat 
ed  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  well-spread  table, 
presided  over  by  Mrs.  Cullum,  impassive  and 
dumb  as  usual.  The  six  girls  were  ranged  on 
either  side. 

""Well,  ma,"  began  Tobe,  with  assumed  gay- 
ety,  turning  up  his  plate,  "  what  for  a  day  have 
you  had  ?" 

Sissy  looked  through  and  beyond  him  with 
fixed,  unresponsive  gaze,  and  said  never  a 
word. 

Then,  as  Mr.  Cullum  afterwards  said,  "Ole 
Satan  swep'  an'  garnished  him  an'  tuk  posses 
sion  of  him."  He  seized  the  heavy  teacup  in 
front  of  him  and  hurled  it  at  his  unsuspecting 
spouse ;  she  gasped,  paling  slightly,  and  dodged. 
The  missile,  striking  the  brick  chimney -jamb 
behind  her,  crashed  and  fell  shivering  into  frag 
ments  on  the  hearth.  The  saucer  followed. 
Then,  Tobe's  spirits  rising,  plate  after  plate 
hurtled  across  the  table ;  the  air  fairly  bristled 
with  flying  crockery.  Mrs.  Cullum,  after  the 
first  shock  of  surprise,  continued  calmly  to  eat 
her  supper,  moving  her  head  from  right  to  left 
or  ducking  to  avoid  an  unusually  well -aimed 
projectile. 

Little  Sis  scrambled  down  from  her  high  chair 
at  the  first  hint  of  hostilities,  and  dived,  scream 
ing,  under  the  table ;  the  others  remained  in  their 
places,  half  paralyzed  with  terror. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  Mr.  Cul- 


34  A  SNIPE-HUNT 

lum,  reaching  out  his  long  arms,  had  cleared 
half  the  board  of  its  stone  and  glass  ware.  Fi 
nally  he  laid  a  savage  hand  upon  a  small  old- 
fashioned  blue  pitcher  left  standing  alone  in  a 
wide  waste  of  table-cloth. 

At  this  Sissy  surrendered  unconditionally. 
"Oh,  Tobe,  fer  Gawd's  sake  !"  she  cried,  throw 
ing  out  her  hands  and  quivering  from  head  to 
foot.  "  I  give  in  !  I  give  in  !  Don't  break  the 
little  blue  china  pitcher  !  You  fetched  it  to  me 
the  day  little  Bud  was  born !  An'  he  drunk 
out' n  it  jest  afore  he  died !  Fer  Gawd's  sake, 
Tobe,  honey  !  I  give  in  I" 

Tobe  set  down  the  pitcher  as  gingerly  as  if  it 
had  been  a  soap-bubble.  Then,  with  a  whoop 
which  fairly  lifted  the  roof  from  the  cabin,  he 
cleared  the  intervening  space  between  them  and 
caught  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

Minty,  with  ready  tact,  dragged  Little  Sis 
from  under  the  table,  and  driving  the  rest  of 
the  flock  before  her,  fled  the  room  and  shut  the 
door  behind  her.  On  the  dark  porch  she  ran 
plump  upon  Jack  Carter. 

"  Why,  Jack  I"  she  cried,  with  her  tear-wet 
face  tucked  before  she  knew  it  against  his  breast, 
"  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  just  hanging  around,"  grinned  Mr.  Car 
ter. 

"  Gawd  be  praised  I"  roared  Tobe,  inside  the 
house. 

"  Amen  I"  responded  Jack,  outside. 

"  An7  Tobe  Cullum,"  announced  Joe  Trimble 


A  SNIPE-HUNT  35 

at  Bishop's  the  next  day,  "have  ordered  np  the 
fines'  set  o*  chiny  in  Waco  fer  Sissy." 

"  It  beats  me,"  said  Newt  Pinson  ;  "  but  I  allers 
did  say  that  the  women  o"  Jim-Ned,  ez  ivives,  air 
the  outbeatenes'  critters  in  creation  !" 


THE  GROVELLING  OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE 


MRS.  TRIMBLE  paused  half-way  down  the  cot 
ton  row  and  looked  over  towards  the  house,  where 
Joe  sat  on  the  rickety  porch.  He  was  playing  a 
hymn  tune.  His  blond  head  was  laid  lovingly 
against  the  neck  of  his  fiddle,  his  eyes  were  closed, 
and  a  beatific  smile  hovered  about  his  handsome 
mouth.  He  accompanied  the  droning  notes  with 
a  steady  pat  of  his  foot  on  the  floor,  and  an  occa 
sional  mellow  burst  of  song. 

"  Joe  Trimble  shore  can  make  the  fiddle  talk !" 
exclaimed  his  wife,  admiringly.  "  Git  up  from 
there,  Lodelia  !"  she  added,  with  sudden  sharp 
ness,  to  a  tow-headed  little  girl  in  the  adjacent 
row,  who  had  slipped  the  half-filled  cotton-sack 
from  her  neck  and  was  squatted  upon  it.  "  Git 
up  from  there  this  minit  !  An'  don't  you,  ner 
Little  Joe,  dassen  to  stop  tell  them  las'  rows  is 
picked — ner  Randy  nuther  !  It's  nigh  about  sun 
down,  an'  yo?  pappy  '11  be  plumb  outdone  waitin' 
fer  his  supper." 

Thus  admonished,  the  children  went  sullenly 


THE  GROVELLING   OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE  37 

to  work,,  the  four-year-old  Randy  snuffling  audi 
bly,  and  she  herself  with  an  involuntary  sigh  of 
weariness  stooped  again  over  the  stunted  stalks. 

The  straggling  cotton-patch  was  all  but  clean— 
a  few  down-hanging  bolls  only  showing  here  and 
there  along  the  outer  rows.  The  year's  crop — 
fiocculent,  snow-white — was  heaped  in  a  couple 
of  big  rail-pens  behind  the  smoke-house,  protect 
ed  by  a  few  planks  from  the  heavy  night  dews 
and  the  rare  October  rains. 

When  Mrs.  Trimble,  with  the  last  bulging  sack 
ful  on  her  shoulder,  hurried  past  the  porch,  Mr. 
Trimble  looked  up.  ' '  Hi,  oh,  Jinny  I"  he  cried, 
affectionately.  "  I  knowed  in  reason  you'd  git 
done  ter-day.  I'll  haul  ter  the  gin  fust  thing  ter- 
morrer.  By  jing  !  th'  ain't  no  sech  crap  this  year 
up  ner  down  Jim-Ned.  Fo'  bales  ef  it's  a  poun' !" 
And  with  an  air  of  triumph  he  struck  anew  into 
"Amazing  grace." 

Mrs.  Trimble  fetched  in  wood,  made  a  fire  in 
the  open  fireplace,  and  set  about  getting  supper, 
while  Lodelia  milked  the  cow,  with  Little  Joe  to 
hold  off  the  calf. 

"  Triflin',"  his  neighbors  along  Jim-Ned  Creek 
were  used  without  scruple  to  call  Joe  Trimble. 
The  air  of  dilapidation  about  his  small  farm 
more  than  justified  the  epithet.  The  rail  fences 
were  rotting  visibly;  the  lop-sided  shed,  which 
served  at  once  as  barn  and  stable,  threatened  to 
succumb  to  the  breath  of  the  first  genuine  north 
er  ;  the  cow-pen  gate  was  propped  upon  a  broken 
hoe-handle  ;  the  one-roomed  cabin  itself,  with  its 
ill-built  chimney  and  sagging  roof,  was,  as  Mrs.. 


THE  GROVELLING   OP  JINNY  TRIMBLE 

Newt  Pinson  said  over  her  snuff-bottle  to  Gran 
ny  Games  :  "A  plumb  sight.  An'  Jinny  Trim 
ble  is  fair  druv  to  keep  Joe  hissef  fum  drappin' 
ter  pieces.  Cert'n'y  ef  she  wa'n't  so  po'-sperrit- 
ed  she  wouldn't  stand  it — ner  him/' 

But  Jinny  had  stood  both  with  apparent  equa 
nimity  for  a  matter  of  ten  years  or  thereabouts. 
She  might,  indeed,  be  said  to  share  in  the  gen 
eral  demoralization  going  on  around  her.  Time 
was  when  the  pretty,  saucy,  jimp  coquette,  Jinny 
Leggett  had,  in  Jim-Ned  vernacular,  "kicked" 
every  marriageable  young  man  in  the  county 
for — the  sake  of  Joe  Trimble's  blue  eyes  and 
wheedling  ways,  be  it  understood.  Now  the 
wifely  drudge — thin,  sallow-faced,  hollow-eyed — 
had  hardly  spunk  enough  left  to  borrow  a  pair 
of  quilting-frames.  As  to  the  cooking,  washing, 
and  ironing,  the  wood-chopping  and  water-draw 
ing,  tending  the  ash-hopper  and  the  cattle,  grind 
ing  the  coffee  and  the  axe — all  this  was  as  much 
a  matter  of  course  as  taking  care  of  the  succes 
sive  babies  and  making  soft  soap.  So,  for  aught 
known  to  the  contrary,  was  the  rougher  farm- 
work,  which  yearly  fell  more  and  more  to  her 
hand,  while  her  lazy,  good-looking  lord  rode 
about  the  country  swapping  stories  and  drinks 
across  his  neighbors'  gates,  or  sat  on  his  own 
porch  playing  the  fiddle. 

"It's  ez  much,"  said  Mrs.  Pinson,  in  a  mighty 
pucker  about  Jinny,  "  ef  Joe  Trimble  hez  picked 
fo'  poun's  out'n  them  fo'  bales  he's  braggin'  'bout. 
It's  scan'lous !  But  Jinny  hez  lost  her  back 
bone  !" 


THE   G  HO  YELLING   OF  JINNY   THIMBLE  39 

Mrs.  Trimble  at  that  moment  was  putting  the 
supper  on  the  table,  and  as  the  aromatic  smell  of 
coffee  and  bacon  greeted  her  husband's  nostrils, 
he  hastened  to  hang  up  his  fiddle  and  fall  to. 

"  Jinny,  honey,"  he  said,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  when  he  had  finished,  "I  wisht  you'd  go 
out  ter  the  lot  an7  shake  down  some  feed  for  them 
steers." 

On  a  crisp  November  morning  ten  days  later 
Mr.  Trimble  took  a  boisterously  affectionate  leave 
of  his  family  and  started  with  his  cotton,  ginned 
and  baled,  for  the  nearest  market -town,  some 
thing  like  a  hundred  miles  distant. 

"  Don't  werry  concernin'  the  childern's  Chris'- 
mus,  Jinny,"  he  called,  gayly,  over  his  shoulder, 
as  he  tucked  his  fiddle  into  the  feed-trough  and 
picked  up  the  long  whip  ;  "  Fm  goin'  ter  fetch 
back  truck  fum  Waco  ez  '11  make  yo'  eyes  bug 
out'n  yo'  head  —  loaf-sugar  an' bear -grease  an' 
pep'mint,  an'  sech.  I  ain't  fergittin'  yo'  silk  dress 
nuther,  honey,  ner  yo'  side-combs." 

The  children  raced  after  him  down  the  hard 
road.  Mrs.  Trimble  with  reddened  eyes  watched 
the  brand  -  new  unpaid  -  for  wagon  until  it  dis 
appeared  in  a  mesquite  thicket  beyond  the  field. 
It  was  drawn  by  two  fine  yoke  of  oxen — great, 
wide-horned  brutes  that  she  had  herself  raised 
from  calves  ;  the  four  trim,  compact  bales  were 
piled  upon  it ;  a  skillet  and  coffee-pot  swung  be 
neath  the  hinder  axle.  Mr.  Trimble  walked  be 
side  the  team  cracking  his  whip.  Spot,  the  lean 
old  hound,  trotted  at  his  master's  heels. 


40  THE   GROVELLING    OF   JINNY   TRIMBLE 

"  Th'  ain't  a  laklier  man  ner  a  better  fiddler 
on  Jim-Ned,"  murmured  the  little  woman  ;  "ner 
a  studdier  church-member  —  ef  he  do  sometime 
take  a  leetle  drap  too  much  !" 

Anticipation  ran  high  in  the  Trimble  house 
hold  as  the  days  drifted  by  and  the  time  drew 
near  for  the  return  of  its  lawful  head.  Marvel 
lous  stories  of  past  Christmases  kept  little  Joe 
and  Randy  awake  o'  nights ;  up  betimes  o'  morn 
ings,  they  perched  the  livelong  day  on  the  fence, 
their  bare  red  feet  tucked  under  them,  their 
eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  the  turn  of  the  road,  im 
patient  for  the  first  glimpse  of  Morg's  and 
Mike's  well-known,  wide-spread,  shining  horns. 
Lodelia  ran  back  and  forth  frantically,  her 
small  soul  fairly  rent  in  twain  betwixt  contin 
ual  false  alarms  without-doors  and  maternal  rep 
rimand  within.  Mrs.  Trimble's  own  excitement 
was  overlaid  by  a  flustered  pretence  of  indiffer 
ence. 

A  sort  of  incredulous  consternation  succeeded 
this  expectant  rapture  when  Christmas  came  and 
went  without  any  sign  of  the  absent  husband 
and  father.  The  lank,  empty  stockings  depend 
ed  unnoticed  from  the  chimney,  while  the  fright 
ened  children  huddled  in  the  falling  dusk  about 
their  mother's  knees.  "  Somp'n  must  ha'  hap 
pened  to  Joe  !  Oh,  I  know  somp'n  tumble  has 
happened !"  she  moaned,  visions  of  Joe's  blond 
curls  all  dabbled  in  blood  swimming  before  her 
eyes. 

But,  a  little  later,  Mr.  Pinson  dropped  in  to 
allay  his  neighbor's  probable  fears.  He  said, 


THE  GROVELLING  OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE  41 

squirming  awkwardly  in  his  chair,  and  with  his 
eyes  on  the  floor,  that  he  had  seen  Joe  a  few  days 
before  in  Waco,  whither  he  had  hauled  his  own 
cotton.  Ye-es,  Joe  were  well.  Joe  had  sold  his 
cotton.  Joe  talked  like  he  mought  stay  awhile 
down  ther.  "An*,  an',  don't  you  be  oneasy, 
Mis"  Trimble,  Joe's  all  right.  In  fac',  Joe  was 
fiddlin'  like  a  cherry-bin  at  the  wagin-yard  the 
night  afore  I  lef/' 

"It's  scan'lous  !"  cried  Mrs.  Pinson,  when  Newt 
reported  at  home  how  Mrs.  Trimble  "took "the 
news.  "  She  orter  up  an'  part  fum  sech  a  out- 
beaten,  triflin'  houn' — stidder  thankin'  the  Lord 
that  he  ain't  on  the  road  sender's,  dead  !  Jinny 
shore  is  a  po'-sperrited  creeter  !" 

Vague  rumors  of  Joe's  gay  cuttings-up  in  the 
far-away  town  floated  out  to  Jim-Ned  during  the 
next  few  months.  If  they  reached  his  wife's  ears 
she  made  no  sign.  She  sat  on  Sundays,  more 
forlorn-looking  and  hollow-eyed  than  ever,  in  her 
accustomed  place  in  Ebenezer  Church,  and  passed 
the  time  of  day  meekly  with  the  neighbors  on 
coming  out.  But  she  shrank  from  their  well- 
meant  attempts  at  consolation.  And  divining 
with  innate  courtesy  that  she  wished  to  be  alone, 
even  Mrs.  Pinson  presently  forbore  to  intrude 
upon  her.  The  front  door  of  the  Trimble  cabin 
was  rarely  opened,  save  when  its  mistress  ap 
peared  there  for  a  moment,  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hand  and  gazing  wistfully  down  the 
road.  Randy  and  little  Joe  had  long  abandoned 
their  lookout  on  the  fence.  A  pitiful  air  of 
desolation  brooded  over  the  place,  the  farm  and 


42  THE   GROVELLING    OF   JINNY   TRIMBLE 

its  belongings  running,  if  possible,  still  further 
down  at  the  heel. 

Suddenly  one  morning — it  was  when  the  short, 
sharp  winter  had  fairly  broken,  the  first  spring 
rains  had  softened  the  ground,  and  the  pink  of 
peach  blossoms  was  making  splashes  of  color 
everywhere — Mrs.  Trimble  appeared  in  her  field 
walking  behind  a  plough  and  driving  Joe's  old 
sorrel  horse,  Baldy.  She  seemed  at  first  to  be 
rather  dragged  by  the  plough-handles  than  to 
guide  them.  But  she  held  on  with  grim  deter 
mination  ;  and  by  the  time  the  garden-patch  was 
turned  under,  the  passers-by  admitted  that  the 
rows  were  run  ding  straight,  for  a  woman. 

"  Yes/'  she  said,  slowly,  with  her  eyes  turned 
away  from  the  questioner's  face  and  a  faint  flush 
on  her  cheek,  "  me  an'  the  child ern  has  conclud 
ed  to  make  the  crop  'gins'  the  time  Joe  comes 
back." 

Upon  this,  offers  of  help  poured  in  upon  her. 
Jim -Ned  to  a  man — and  woman  —  stood  by  her 
until  her  crop  was  planted.  Thereafter,  early 
and  late,  through  the  showery  spring  and  the 
long  hot  summer,  her  slight,  spare  form  could  be 
seen,  hoe  in  hand,  moving  up  and  down  corn 
or  cotton  row,  accompanied  by  Lodelia  and  the 
two  little  boys — all  patiently  and  manfully  heap 
ing  or  levelling  the  brown  soil,  digging,  ditching, 
fighting  grass  and  tie  -  vine.  There  were  such 
tinkerings,  too,  between  times,  at  fences  and  gates 
and  pens  that  towards  the  end  of  September  it  is 
doubtful  whether  Joe,  had  he  presented  himself, 
would  have  recognized  his  own  freehold.  The 


THE   GROVELLING   OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE  43 

corn  was  gathered  and  cribbed,  and  the  fodder 
stacked  ;  the  cotton  -  patch,,  green  and  healthy 
under  a  favoring  sky,  was  dotted  with  blooms, 
amid  which  the  bolls  were  bursting,  white  and 
thick  as  pop-corn. 

And  Joe  all  this  time?  Fiddling  in  the  Waco 
wagon-yards  at  night  by  the  freighters'  camp- 
fires — fiddling,  and  swapping  stories,  and  taking 
blithely,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  that  lee- 
tie  drap  too  much  which,  away  from  home  in 
particular,  was  one  of  his  besetting  sins  ;  selling 
his  cotton  for  a  sum  far  beyond  his  expectation  ; 
laying  in  groceries  and  dry-goods  enough  to  run 
a  sto',  by  jing  !  bragging  and  swaggering  about 
the  streets  one  day,  and  waking  out  of  a  drunk 
en  sleep  the  next,  to  find  his  wagon  rifled  of  its 
contents  and  his  money  gone.  An  epic,  indeed, 
might  be  written  concerning  Mr.  Trimble's  three- 
quarters  of  a  year  "in  town."  One  goodly  steer 
after  another  passed  from  his  possession  into  the 
hands  of  the  unscrupulous  sharpers  who  were 
fattening  upon  him ;  and  then  the  brand-new, 
unpaid  -  for  wagon,  with  its  bows  and  sheets  ; 
even  the  old  gun,  belt,  and  cartridge-box— every 
thing  except  the  beloved  fiddle,  with  which  he 
continued  to  make  merry,  and  old  Spot,  who  fol 
lowed  his  disreputable  master  from  one  drinking- 
shop  and  gambling  -  hell  to  another,  regarding 
him  with  eyes  which  had  in  them  something  of 
the  wistf ulness  that  dwelt  in  Jinny's  own. 

But  all  things  sooner  or  later  come  to  an  end, 
and  at  last,  one  day,  this  lazy,  rollicking,  good- 


44  THE   GROVELLING  OF   JINNY  TRIMBLE 

humored    prodigal   bethought    himself   of    Mis' 
Trimble  and  the  childern. 

The  Ebenezer  School  had  just  been  dismissed. 
Mr.  Tolliver,  the  old  teacher,  was  standing  on 
the  door-step  in  the  sunset  glow,  brooding  with 
habitual  depression  over  the  scant  desire  for 
learning  exhibited  by  the  freckled,  sunburned, 
whooping  urchins  of  both  sexes  at  that  moment 
scurrying  gayly  homeward.  "  Truly,"  he  sighed, 
"  the  fruit  of  knowledge  does  not  tempt  the 
youth  of  James-Edward"  —  for  the  old  peda 
gogue's  classic  tongue  repudiated  the  common 
ly  accepted  name  of  the  district  in  which  he  la 
bored.  He  turned  to  fasten  the  door.  But  a 
tumultuous  and  prolonged  burst  of  laughter  drew 
his  attention  to  the  high-road  which  ran  across 
a  shinn-oak  prairie  in  front,  and  curved  around 
the  corner  of  the  school-house.  A  noisy  rabble 
of  men  and  boys,  some  mounted,  some  on  foot, 
surged  forward  in  pell-mell  disorder.  A  nearer 
approach  disclosed  the  cause  of  their  mirth. 

"  Bless  my  soul  !"  said  Mr.  Tolliver,  from  his 
post  of  observation  on  the  school-house  steps. 
"  I  believe  that  is  Joseph  Trimble  !" 

It  was  in  truth  that  home-returning  hero.  An 
axle  and  a  single  pair  of  cart-wheels,  dragged  by 
a  small,  gaunt,  slab-sided  ox,  served  as  a  support 
for  a  barrel  lying  upon  its  side,  and  braced  by  a 
couple  of  stanchions.  Astride  of  the  barrel,  clad 
in.  mud  -  bespattered  rags,  and  hatless,  sat  Joe 
himself — enthroned  as  it  were — fiddle  in  hand. 
It  was  not  a  hymn  tune  whose  notes  rang  out 


THE   GROVELLING   OF  JINNY   TRIMBLE  45 

on  the  still  afternoon.  A  tipsy  smile  illuminated 
the  player's  red  face  as  the  bow  frisked  and 
capered  over  the  strings,  and  his  bare  heels 
against  the  sides  of  the  barrel  kept  time  to  the 
profane  strains  of  "  Granny,  will  yo'  dog  bite  ?" 
A  tin  cup  swung  from  the  spigot  in  the  bung, 
and  an  unmistakable  smell  of  whiskey  pervaded 
the  air  around. 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Tolliver  again, 
as  the  cavalcade  swept  by,  "  this  is  a  survival  of 
the  ancient  Bacchic  festival  I" 

"  How  'bout  Mis'  Trimble,  Joe  ?"  demanded 
Mr.  Pinson,  during  one  of  their  frequent  con 
vivial  halts,  and  he  winked  slyly  at  the  crowd  as 
he  took  a  pull  at  the  tin  cup. 

"  Mis'  Trimble  ?  Jinny  ?"  shouted  Joe,  looking 
down  with  a  fatuous  smile.  "  Don't  you  fret  yo' 
gizzard  'bout  Jinny  Trimble  !  Jinny's  goin'  ter 
be  so  ding  glad  ter  see  me  thet  she'll  fair  grufi- 
ble  at  my  feet !" 

And  the  train,  augmented  at  every  cross-road 
by  some  laughter -loving  crony,  moved  noisily 
on. 

At  the  moment  they  emerged  from  the  mes- 
quite  thicket,  and  came  in  sight  of  Joe's  recon 
structed  estate,  Mrs.  Trimble  was  at  the  wood- 
pile  cutting  wood  for  the  supper  fire  ;  Randy  was 
picking  up  chips  in  his  blue  cotton  apron  ;  Lode- 
lia  and  Little  Joe  were  tending  the  ash-hopper. 
The  sound  of  horses'  feet,  mingled  with  the  hila 
rious  uproar,  borne  on  the  mild  wind,  came  float 
ing  across  the  level  fields.  She  lifted  her  head, 
pushing  back  her  sun-bonnet,  and  stared  with 


46  THE  GROVELLING  OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE 

out-starting  eyes.  Her  arm  dropped  nerveless 
at  her  side  ;  her  lips  quivered  ;  her  knees  shook 
beneath  her.  She  moved  mechanically  towards 
the  front  gate,  followed  by  her  three  children. 

The  procession  had  halted  in  the  road  there. 
A  sudden  shamed  silence  fell  upon  the  crowd — 
hurried  on  thus  far  partly  by  a  spirit  of  fun, 
partly  by  sincere  rejoicing  in  the  return  of  their 
jovial  gossip  —  at  sight  of  the  patient  and  cou 
rageous  though  poor-spirited  little  woman  com 
ing  across  the  field,  her  head  drooped  upon  her 
breast,  the  heavy  axe  grasped  unconsciously  in 
her  hand. 

"  Hello,  Jinny  !"  called  Mr.  Trimble,  with 
jaunty  assurance,  from  his  perch  on  the  whiskey 
barrel.  "  Here  I  am  onct  mo' !  Safe  an'  soun'. 
Pervided  with  a  bar'l  o'  ginooine  rye  !  Onloose 
the  latch-string,  honey,  an'  look  out  fer  a  rip- 
roarin'  celerbation  of  these  here  joyful  perce- 
dences — " 

His  maudlin  laugh  was  suddenly  checked  ;  his 
jaws  dropped ;  he  gazed  at  his  wife  with  dilating 
eyes.  She  stood  in  the  open  gateway  confront 
ing  him  ;  her  dark  eyes,  fixed  full  upon  his,  were 
blazing ;  her  lips  were  firmly  set ;  a  scarlet  spot 
burned  in  either  sunken  cheek  ;  she  looked  dan 
gerously  like  the  imperious,  high-spirited  Jinny 
Leggett,  of  whom  Joe  in  his  courting  days  had 
been  mortally  afraid. 

"Joe  Trimble,"  she  said,  with  terrifying  calm 
ness.  "  shet  yo'  mouth  and  git  off  n  that  whiskey 
barrel  !" 

Mr.  Trimble  meekly  obeyed,  scrambling  down 


THE  GROVELLING   OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE  47 

with  what  grace  he  could  muster,  and  casting 
sheepish  glances  at  his  followers,  huddled  breath 
less  and  abashed  on  the  farther  side  of  the  road. 

"  Stand  out'n  the  way  with  yo'  onchristian, 
hell-temptin'  fiddle/'  Mrs.  Trimble  added,  step 
ping  forward. 

Joe  slunk  to  one  side  like  a  whipped  hound ; 
old  Spot,  after  an  uncertain,  appealing  glance 
around,  crept  after  him. 

She  lifted  the  axe. 

It  was  not  for  naught  that  the  down-trodden 
wife  had  chopped  wood — aye,  and  split  rails  into 
the  bargain,  during  all  these  years.  The  mus 
cles  stood  out  like  thongs  on  the  skinny  little 
arm  ;  the  wrist  was  as  firm  and  hard  as  iron. 
The  axe,  poised  an  instant  in  the  air,  caught  on 
its  keen  edge  a  gleam  of  sunlight,  then  it  de 
scended  with  a  sidewise  telling  blow  on  the  head 
of  the  barrel ;  it  rose  and  fell  again,  and  the 
seasoned  wood  splintered  and  crashed  inward  ;  a 
small  deluge  of  amber-colored  liquor  gushed  over 
the  axle,  and  ran  in  a  foamy,  ambrosial  rivulet 
across  the  road. 

The  lean  ox  turned  his  head  to  gaze  with  mild, 
surprised  eyes  at  the  wrack  behind  him,  then 
whisked  his  tail,  and  resumed  his  abstracted 
ruminations. 

An  involuntary  murmur  of  applause  ran 
through  the  spectators  ;  every  man  and  boy  of 
them  took  off  his  hat.  Regret  over  the  waste 
of  so  much  ginooine  rye  was  lost  for  the  moment 
in  admiration  of  Mis'  Trimble's  spunk. 

Mrs.  Trimble  did  not  acknowledge  their  pres- 


48  THE  GROVELLING  OF  JINNY   TRIMBLE 

ence  by  so  much  as  a  look.  "  Lodelia,"  she  or 
dered,  "kiss  yo?  poppy,  an"  onhitch  that  pore 
creeter  from  them  wheels,  an'  give  it  some  feed. 
Come  erlong,  Joe,  an'  min'  you  fasten  the  gate 
a'ter  you." 

Mr.  Trimble,  completely  sobered,  mute,  and 
dumfounded,  lifted  Randy  in  his  arms,  and 
walked  after  his  wife  towards  the  cabin,  with 
little  Joe  and  Spot  tagging  at  his  heels. 

"  Ding  my  hide,  this  beats  me !"  exclaimed 
Newt  Pinson.  And  clapping  spurs  to  his  horse, 
he  galloped  down  the  road,  the  demoralized 
squad  clattering  and  padding  behind  him. 
"  This  beats  me  !"  he  cried  again,  turning  in  his 
saddle  to  look  back. 

Mrs.  Trimble  was  nowhere  visible. 

Joe  was  at  the  wood-pile  chopping  wood. 

The  next  day,  and  for  many  a  long  day  thereaf 
ter,  Mr.  Trimble,  with  a  cotton-sack  hung  about 
his  neck,  dragged  on  his  knees  through  the  cot 
ton-patch,  reaping,  as  Mrs.  Pinson  sarcastically 
observed,  where  he  had  not  sowed.  His  was 
now  the  hand  that  shook  down  feed  for  Baldy 
and  the  solitary  steer.  He  it  was  who  turned 
the  windlass  at  the  deep  well  and  packed  in  the 
wood ;  he  tended  the  ash-hopper  and  set  the 
clothes-lines ;  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  get  up 
of  mornings  and  make  the  fire. 

He  seemed,  moreover,  pitiably  anxious  lest  he 
should  by  accident  leave  some  of  these  unaccus 
tomed  tasks  undone.  Jim-Ned  looked  on,  shak 
ing  its  head,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  this 
extraordinary  transformation,  and  momentarily 


THE  GROVELLING   OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE  49 

expecting,  if  the  truth  were  told,  a  fall  from 
grace. 

Joe's  old  exuberance  of  spirit,  too,  had  given 
place  to  a  kind  of  timid  humility  ;  his  merry  eyes 
were  downcast  and  dull ;  his  contagious  laugh 
was  hushed ;  his  fiddle  hung  unused  on  the  cab 
in  wall,  gathering  cobwebs  on  its  crooked  neck. 

Mrs.  Trimble,  though  outwardly  calm,  was  in 
wardly  exultant.  "It's  good  fer  so'  eyes,"  she 
said  to  herself,  watching  Joe  pass  the  porch  with 
the  cotton  slung  over  his  shoulder,  and  remem 
bering  all  her  own  pains  and  mortifications.  The 
men  made  way  for  her  with  marked  deference 
when  she  took  her  place  in  the  Amen  corner  of 
Ebenezer  Church,  with  Mr.  Trimble,  dashed  and 
browbeaten,  at  her  elbow.  The  women  gazed  at 
her  in  hushed  wonder.  "  Yes,  it's  good  fer  so' 
eyes  \"  she  repeated  again  and  again  in  the  first 
transport  of  her  freedom. 

But,  as  time  passed,  a  vague  feeling  of  discom 
fort  crept  into  her  secret  soul.  Something  was 
missing.  What  was  it  ?  Was  it  the  old-time, 
half-contemptuous,  wholly  cordial  regard  of  her 
neighbors,  who  now  held  respectfully  aloof,  eye 
ing  her  askance  as  if  afraid  of  her  ?  Was  it  the 
strange  silence  around  her  own  fireside  at  night, 
where  Joe  sat  with  his  head  hanging  and  his 
eyes  fixed  vacantly  on  the  flames,  and  the  chil 
dren  cowered  in  the  corner,  dumbly  question 
ing,  first  his  dull  face  and  then  her  own  ? 

One  night  Mr.  Trimble,  coming  in  with  an 
armful  of  firewood,  found  his  wife  sitting  alone 
bv  the  hearth.  The  children  were  abed.  She 


50  THE  GROVELLING  OP  JINNY  TRIMBLE 

had  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  was  crying  si 
lently. 

"  Gawd-a-mighty,  Jinny !"  he  cried,  throwing 
down  the  wood  and  running  to  her  in  alarm, 
"what  hev  I  done?  Ain't  the  wood  chopped 
ter  suit  ye?  Ain't  the  wash -kittle  filled?  I 
b'leeve  in  my  soul  I've  fergot  them  clo's-lines. 
I'll  go  an'  prop  'em  this  minit !" 

"  'T-t'ain't  the  lines/'  whimpered  Jinny. 

"Ain't  the  ash-hopper  sot  ?     Ain't — 

"Oh-h,  Joe!"  sobbed  his  wife,  "I  don't  keer 
nothin'  'bout  the  ash-hopper !  I  want  to  hear 
you  laugh  onct  mo' !  I  want  to  see  you  cavort 
roun'  Jim-Ned  like  you  used  to  !  I'm  plumb 
tired  o'  havin'  them  fool  men  look  at  me  like 
I  wuz  wearin'  the  britches  !  I'm  sick  o'  hearin' 
Mis'  Pinson  an'  Granny  Carnes  talk  like  you 
didn't  have  spunk  enough  to  spank  Randy !  I 
wisht  ter  the  Lord  I  hadn't  of  made  no  crop ! 
I'm  so  lonesome  !  Oh,  Joe  /" 

And  she  jumped  up  and  hid  her  face  on  his 
breast. 

"  Lord,  Jinny !"  he  exclaimed,  blushing  red 
with  delight,  and  as  bashful  as  ever  he  was  in 
his  courting  days.  "Lord,  honey,  them  women 
folks  ain't  wuth  shucks,  nohow.  I  don't  keer 
nothin'  'bout  Mis'  Pinson  an'  Granny  Carnes ! 
But  ef  Newt  Pinson  er  any  of  that  gang  hez  dast 
ter  look  cross-eyed  at  you,  I'll  tek  the  hair  off'n 
the'r  hide  afore  mornin'."  And  his  eyes  grew 
suddenly  sombre. 

"Oh  no,  no!"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him. 
"  Not  that-a-way  !  Not  that-a-way  !" 


THE  GROVELLING  OF  JINNY  TRIMBLE  51 

The  result  of  their  long  conference  was  that 
Joe,  the  next  morning,  leaving  the  few  scattering 
unpicked  bolls  in  the  field  to  Lodelia  and  Little 
Joe,  mounted  Baldy,  and  rode  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Jim -Ned,  inviting  his  neighbors  to 
a  play-party  at  his  house  the  following  night. 
And  the  neighbors  came,  bubbling  .over  with 
good-humor  and  curiosity. 

And  so  it  was  that  in  the  presence  of  the  Ebe- 
nezer  congregation  Jinny  Trimble  "  grabbled  " 
at  her  husband's  feet !  She  took  the  fiddle  from 
the  wall  with  her  own  hands  and  gave  it  to  him. 
She  consulted  him  audibly,  and  in  a  tone  of 
deep  humility,  concerning  the  disputed  steps  of 
"  Peeping  at  Susan"  ;  she  fetched  him  his  pipe, 
and  hovered  over  him,  radiant,  while  he  lighted 
it ;  she  ran  out  when  the  fire  in  the  big  fireplace 
burned  low,  and  came  in,  ostentatiously  carrying 
a  heavy  back-log,  her  head  lifted  defiantly  and 
her  dark  eyes  dancing. 

Joe's  blue  eyes  shone  back  at  her.  He  fid 
dled  like  one  inspired  ;  his  gay  laugh  rang  out 
above  the  shuffling  feet  of  the  young  men  and 
women  winding  the  mazes  of  "  Weev'ly  Wheat." 

Never  had  Mr.  Trimble  been  so  hilarious  or  so 
masterful. 

Never  was  Mrs.  Trimble  so  abject. 

"  Verily/'  observed  old  Mr.  Tolliver  to  Mr. 
Pinson,  "  the  Prodigal  of  James -Edward  hath 
the  fatted  calf,  and  a  ring  upon  his  finger  !" 

"Jinny  hev  drapped  back,"  said  Mrs.  Pinson 
to  Granny  Games  out  in  the  brush-arbor,  where 
they  were  overseeing  the  supper.  "  Her  spunk 


52  THE   GROVELLING   OF  JINNY    TRIMBLE 

hev  died  a  natch'l  death.     She  cert'n'y  hev  grub- 
bled  !" 

All  the  same,  the  next  day,  when  Mr.  Trim 
ble  hinted  that  he  shore  orter  haul  them  five 
bales  of  cotton  o'  his'n  to  "Waco,  Jinny  put  her 
foot  down. 


II 

FLYING   THREADS 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 


JOHN  DENE  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  squat 
doorway  of  his  rock  hut,  his  slouch  hat  brushing 
the  heavy  lintel,  and  his  square  shoulders  almost 
touching  the  rough  framework  on  either  side  ; 
then,  mounting  the  short  outer  flight  of  steps 
that  led  to  the  flat  roof  above,  he  seated  him 
self  on  the  rude  parapet  and  bared  his  forehead 
to  the  crisp  October  night  wind.  He  breathed 
into  his  lungs  with  conscious  delight  the  aromat 
ic  perfume  of  the  "rosum"  weed,  whose  yellow 
blossoms,  faintly  visible  in  the  starlight,  overlaid 
the  abrupt  slopes  and  wide  levels  of  the  prairie 
stretching  away  to  his  right.  On  his  left,  the 
mountains,  a  mile  or  so  away,  were  banked  like 
a  semicircle  of  soft  dark  cloud  against  the  clear 
sky.  There  was  a  fire-fly  or  two  astir  among  the 
late-blooming  flowers,  whose  faint  odor  came  up 
to  him  in  little  balmy  puffs  from  the  garden 
patch  about  the  cabin  door  ;  and  a  night  bird 
now  and  then  flitted  on  stealthy  wing  from  one 
clump  of  trees  in  the  hollow  below  to  another. 
But  it  was  very  still,  so  still  that  he  could  hear 
the  musical  drip-drop  of  the  water  falling  from 


56  THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 

the  spring  into  the  reedy  pool  at  the  head  of  the 
hollow ;  the  howl  of  a  coyote  somewhere  on 
Quarry  Mountain  rang  so  distinctly  on  his  ear 
that  he  clutched  his  rifle  and  threw  it  instinc 
tively  to  his  shoulder.  But  he  smiled  and  laid 
it  on  his  knee  again  as  the  echo  of  a  burst  of 
laughter,  familiar,  cheery,  prolonged,  came  float 
ing  across  the  valley  from  the  store  over  in  Lo 
gan's  Gap. 

They  were  in  truth  talking  about  him  there. 
Or,  to  be  more  accurate,  old  Uncle  Dicky  Crawls, 
tilted  back  against  the  chimney  jamb,  in  a  raw 
hide-bottomed  chair,  with  a  cob  pipe  between  his 
toothless  gums,  was  talking,  and  "  the  boys"  were 
listening  respectfully.  A  handful  of  gnarled 
and  knotted  mesquite  roots  blazed  in  the  wide 
fireplace  by  way  of  a  light,  the  dingy  kerosene- 
lamp  on  one  end  of  the  counter  barely  illumi 
nating  with  its  dim  circle  the  greasy  pages  of 
the  ledger  wherein  Joe  Matthews,  the  store 
keeper,  was  perfunctorily  recording  the  business 
of  the  day.  The  boys,  long,  lank,  and  middle- 
aged  for  the  most  part,  with  grave  faces  and 
keen,  humorous  eyes,  sat  in  an  irregular  semi 
circle  about  the  hearth.  The  store  door  was 
open;  the  flat-topped  mountain  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  Gap  seemed  to  stand  squarely  across 
it  in  the  luminous  darkness  ;  the  wire  fence,  zig 
zagging  along  the  hard,  smooth  road,  gleamed 
like  a  strand  of  silver  thread  where  the  out- 
streaming  firelight  found  and  touched  it.  Half 
a  dozen  horses,  whose  high -pommelled  saddles 
were  adorned  with  hairy,  many -coiled  lariats, 


THE   SONG  OP  THE  OPAL  57 

were  hitched  to  the  saplings  on  the  wind-shel 
tered  side  of  the  store,  and  as  many  dogs  lounged 
on  the  steps  or  dozed  under  their  owners5  chairs 
within. 

"When  I  seen  him  come  a  -  ridin'  up  to  the 
Gap  las'  Crismus  a  year/5  Uncle  Dicky  was  say 
ing,  "I  knowed  lak  a  shot  thet  he  wuz  a-hidin' 
out.  Some  o'  you  boys  "lowed  ez  how  he  looked 
mighty  biggaty  ;  an7  thet  this  here  pre-cink  wa'n't 
a-goin'  to  hoi5  him  mo'n  a  week  'thout  a  inter- 
view  with  a  rope  an5  a  lira5.  But  yo'  unk  Dicky 
ain't  off'n  mistakened,  an5  yo'  unk  Dicky  tuk  him 
by  the  ban'  at  oncet.  An5  now  they  ain't  no  man 
nowher's  roun'  the  Gap  who  hez  mo5  the  respeck 
of  his  feller-citizens  than  Jack  Dene.  Naw.  sir  ! 
I  hain't  no  doubt  whatsomedever  thet  he  hez 
killed  his  man  wher'  he  come  fum.  An'  I  don't 
no  mo'  b'leeve  his  name  air  Jack  Dene  than  I 
b'leeve  Billy  Pitt  thar  hed  that  wrastle  with  a 
catamount  t'other  day  over  on  Jim-Ned." 

Billy  Pitt  drew  a  playful  bead  on  Uncle  Dicky 
with  his  stubby  but  unerring  rifle,  and  joined 
in  the  good-natured  laugh  at  his  own  expense — 
that  resonant  laugh  which,  echoing  across  the 
still  valley,  found  John  Dene  a-dreaming  on  his 
house-top. 

"  I  ain't  keerin'  what  his  name  mought  be," 
he  said,  when  the  laugh  subsided;  "  he's  mighty 
fa'r  an'  squar',  Jack  is." 

"  Thet's  so,"  assented  Matthews,  looking  up 
from  his  ledger,  but  keeping  an  inky  finger  on 
his  column  of  figures  ;  "an'  he's  nigh  'bout  the 
contrivinest  pusson  I  ever  seen.  Thet  thar  rock 


58  THE   SONG  OF  THE  OPAL 

house  o'  his'n,  which  he  hev  quayried  the  rock 
an'  put  up  hisse'f,  I  'low  it's  the  beatenes'  house 
in  creation.  Made  out'n  rock,  ever'  bit,  sir, 
chimbly  an'  all,  an'  a  reg'lar  chimbly-she'f  over 
the  fireplace  !  It's,  'stonishin'  how  thet  rock  do 
cut,  anyhow,"  he  concluded,  meditatively. 

"  He  'ain't  teched  the  ole  quayry,  hez  he  ?" 
asked  Red  Nabers  from  his  corner  of  the  fire 
place. 

"God -a- mighty,  naw!"  cried  Uncle  Dicky, 
bringing  his  chair  down  to  the  floor  with  a  jerk. 
"  Thet  ole  quayry  were  here  when  I  come  to 
Comanche  County  ;  an'  thet  wuz  befV  the  Injuns 
lef .  I  heered  the  tales  'bout  them  Digger  peo 
ple  f  um  a  chief  hisse'f .  An7  thet  ole  quayry  ain't 
a-goin'  to  be  teched — not  to  git  rock  out'n — 
whilse  my  head  air  hot." 

"  Co'se  not,  Unk  Dicky,  co'se  not,"  said  Mat 
thews,  to  whom  the  old  quarry  really  belonged, 
in  a  soothing  tone.  "Jack  Dene  'ain't  teched 
the  ole  quayry.  Didn't  I  he'p  him  haul  ever' 
las'  one  o'  them  slabs  thet  his  cabin  air  made 
out'n  ?  Howsomedever,  he  does  bogue  roun' 
thar  mighty  studdy  a-s'archin'  for  them  turkles 
Uncle  Dicky's  been  a-noratin'  'bout  ever  seuce  I 
were  born." 

"  Thet's  all  fa'r  an'  squar',"  said  the  old  man, 
tilting  his  chair  back  and  resuming  his  pipe. 
"  He  air  welcome  to  dig  fer  them  leetle  turkles 
ez  much  ez  he  pleases.  I  don't  keer.  I  wisht 
to  the  Lord  he  could  mek  out  what  them  Digger 
people  wuz  a'ter." 

"Is  it  p'intedly  yo'  'pinion,  Unk  Dicky,"  in- 


THE   SONG  OF  THE  OPAL  59 

quired  Green  Nabers,  the  stalwart  twin  of  Red, 
•'thet  the  ole  quayry  hes  been  dug  fer  di'- 
mon's  ?" 

"Waal,  ez  to  di'mon's,"  replied  Uncle  Dicky, 
deliberately,  "  I  ain't  sho  in  my  min'.  But  what 
air  sho  air  thet  oodles  o'  time  ago  thet  ole  qnayry 
wuz  dug  by  somebody  fer  somepn.  An"  thet 
somepn  waVt  buildin'  rock,  nuther.  Thar's  the 
quayry,  an"  thar's  them  turkle-shape  rocks  all 
scattered  roun'  the  aidge  o'  the  pit ;  an'  ever' 
las'  one  o7  them  turkles  hev  been  busted  open. 
'Tain't  one  in  a  bushel,  'cordin'  to  my  calkila- 
tion,  ez  bed  anything  inside.  But  I  hev  foun' 
'em  myse'f  with  a  holler  in  the  middle,  an'  I 
hain't  no  doubt  whatsomedever  thet  in  thet  hol 
ler  them  Digger  people  foun'— min'  yer,  I  don't 
edzackly  say  di'mon's,  but  somepn  of  nigh  'bout 
ekal  vally.  I  'ain't  nuver  come  'crost  a  whole 
turkle  yit,  an'  ef  Jack  Dene  kin  fine  one  whilse 
he  air  a-hidin'  out  an'  a-puttin'  in  o'  his  time, 
I'll  be  pow'ful  rej'iced." 

John  Dene,  sitting  alone  on  the  roof  of  his 
odd  little  hut,  would  have  laughed  outright  had 
he  known  that  the  chief  reason  for  his  popular 
ity  in  Logan  Gap  Precinct  was  due  to  a  belief 
that  he  was  in  hiding  for  a  crime  —  a  murder, 
perhaps— committed  "wher'  he  come  fum."  Yet 
his  neighbors  would  have  sympathized  in  a  hard 
ly  less  degree  with  the  real  cause  of  his  presence 
among  them.  Restless  themselves,  nomads  by  in 
stinct,  wrought  of  the  stuff  from  which  pioneers 
are  moulded,  they  at  least  would  have  under 
stood  that  nameless  feeling,  so  inexplicable  to 


60  THE   SONG  OF  THE   OPAL 

the  conservatism  of  his  family,  which  had  made 
of  him — John  Dene,  of  Dene  Place — a  wanderer, 
and,  the  more  pious  among  his  kindred  did  not 
scruple  to  add,  a  vagabond  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  He  had  it,  perhaps — who  knows  ? — this 
strain  of  lawlessness — from  the  beautiful  savage 
woman  whom  his  far-away  ancestor  had  married 
somewhere  over  seas,  and  brought  to  his  stately 
home  in  England  to  die.  She  had  sent  down  to 
him  too,  they  said,  glancing  at  her  portrait,  her 
bright  tawny  hair,  and  the  soft,  yellowish  brown 
eyes  with  their  curious-shifting  lights,  and  her 
firm,  slim  hands,  and  lithe,  straight  body.  Any 
way,  concluded  the  prim,  angular  Denes,  with 
a  touch  of  scorn  in  their  dry  voices,  it  was 
not  the  Dene  blood  that  had  sent  him  when  a 
mere  lad  gypsying  about  green  English  lanes  ; 
and  later,  when  the  vast  estate  came  into  his 
own  hands,  drove  him  irresistibly  from  its  power 
and  responsibility  into  barbarous  and  unknown 
countries. 

He  sighed  a  little  in  the  darkness  now,  as  a 
memory  of  that  fair,  far-away  home  of  his  boy 
hood  came  to  him  with  a  breath  of  the  English 
flowers  abloom  in  his  garden  patch.  But  he  laid 
his  hand,  palm  downward,  upon  the  giant  slab 
that  roofed  his  hut,  and  at  the  touch  a  curious 
sense  of  freedom  and  content  seemed  to  thrill 
along  his  arm  and  expand  his  heart. 

"  They  manage  well  enough  without  me 
there,"  he  said  to  himself ;  and  a  smile,  which 
was  not  in  the  least  cynical,  curled  the  lip  un 
der  his  long,  brown  mustache,  as  he  thought 


THE   SONG   OP  THE   OPAL  61 

of  the  upright  and  respectable  Dene  who  man 
aged  Dene  Place,  while  its  owner,  the  vagabond 
Jack,  loafed  away  his  existence  on  the  frontier 
of  Texas. 

He  gathered  his  rifle  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm 
and  stood  up,  casting,  as  was  his  wont,  a  last 
look  over  the  valley  before  going  down  into  his 
cabin.  He  uttered  a  sudden  exclamation,  startled 
by  the  glimmer  of  a  light  over  the  crest  of 
Quarry  Mountain.  It  seemed  to  be  moving  along 
the  upper  edge  of  the  old  quarry,  now  dipping 
out  of  sight,  now  twinkling  like  a  star  against 
the  dark  blue  of  the  sky,  as  if  the  hand  that  held 
it  were  lifted  high  above  the  owner's  head.  Jack 
frowned  ;  he  was  almost  as  jealous  of  the  old 
quarry  as  Uncle  Dicky  himself.  "Who  can  be 
prowling  around  there  this  time  of  night,  I  won 
der  ?"  he  muttered. 

He  followed  the  movements  of  the  flickering 
torch  until  it  vanished  suddenly  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  the  burned  thicket.  "Some  of  Crawls's 
boys  hunting  wild-cat,"  he  decided,  finally,  as  he 
turned  to  descend  the  stone  stairway. 

It  was  not  yet  sunrise  the  next  morning  when 
he  started  across  the  valley  for  his  daily  walk  to 
the  mountains.  The  pale  disk  of  the  harvest- 
moon  hung  yet  in  the  vaporous  sky,  with  one 
slowly  fading  star  at  its  side.  But  a  rosy  light 
was  shimmering  along  the  edges  of  the  eastern 
horizon,  and  a  brisk  west  wind  was  lifting  the 
misty  shadows  from  the  hollows.  His  own  step 
was  as  elastic  and  springy  as  the  brown  turf  be 
neath  his  feet.  A  dispassionate  observer  watch- 


02  THE   SONG  OF   THE  OPAL 

ing  him  as  he  made  his  way  between  the  ragged 
cotton -rows,  with  the  shaggy  retriever  at  his 
heels,  might  have  conceded  that  the  Denes  did 
well  to  be  angry.  This  tall  figure,  supple  and 
erect,  which  appeared  to  such  advantage  in  the 
simple  frontier  dress  ;  this  manly,  handsome  face, 
with  its  careless  air  of  independence  and  content 
—what  credit  would  not  these  have  reflected  upon 
the  family  in  general  had  their  owner  but  seen  fit 
to  follow  the  traditions  of  the  family  ! 

He  dipped  a  wooden  bucket  in  the  reed-fringed 
pool  below  the  spring,  and  carried  it  brimming 
to  Roland  his  horse,  stabled  in  a  rude  shed  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  field,  then  strode  whistling  on 
his  way.  He  followed  the  little  trail  which  he  had 
himself  made  up  the  steep  face  of  the  mountain. 
On  the  level  top  he  paused  and  looked  back.  The 
valley  below  was  steeped  in  a  soft  grayish  shadow, 
but  the  outlying  prairie  in  its  yellow  mantle  was 
already  agleam  with  the  morning  sun.  Beyond 
stretched  a  chain  of  pyramidal,  flat-topped  hills, 
cut  at  almost  regular  intervals  by  clean  gaps, 
through  which  glowed  purple  inner  distances. 
From  the  cabins  dotted  about  the  prairie  thin 
spirals  of  blue  smoke  were  rising ;  and  in  the 
fields  about  them,  white  with  bursting  cotton- 
bolls,  he  could  see  the  figures  of  women  and 
children  moving  to  and  fro.  A  few  horses  were 
hitched  already  to  the  saplings  around  the  store 
in  the  Gap,  and  a  mover's  wagon,  with  dingy 
cover,  was  creeping  slowly  townward  along  the 
white  road. 

He  gazed  a  moment  at  the  familiar  picture 


THE    SONG   OF   THE   OPAL  63 

spread  out  beneath  him,  and  went  leisurely  on 
across  the  rock-strewn  ridge.  The  wild  thyme 
crushed  by  his  feet  filled  all  the  air  with  heart- 
some  fragrance  ;  the  thickets  of  prickly  -  pear 
were  ablaze  with  the  red  afid  gold  of  ripening 
fruit ;  the  dwarf  shinn-oaks,  loaded  with  clusters 
of  dark,  shining  acorns,  were  overlaid  here  and 
there  with  a  fine,  filmy  net  -  work  of  love  -  vine, 
which  was  radiant  with  dew-drops ;  a  mocking 
bird  sang  in  the  red-haw  tree  near  the  mouth  of 
the  new  quarry ;  a  squirrel,  with  bushy  tail  curled 
over  his  back,  ran  slowly  across  an  open  space 
beyond,  defying  the  weaponless  hunter.  When 
he  came  around  the  point  of  burned  thicket  so 
plainly  visible  from  his  own  house-top  he  stopped 
abruptly ;  the  dog  uttered  a  low  growl,  instantly 
hushed  at  an  imperious  gesture  from  his  mas 
ter.  A  woman  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  old 
quarry.  Her  face  was  turned  away  from  him, 
but  the  outlines  of  her  form  were  young  and  gra 
cious  in  the  close-fitting  black  gown  she  wore ; 
her  throat  arose  full  and  white  from  the  kerchief 
knotted  loosely  about  it ;  her  bare  head,  crowned 
with  a  wavy  coil  of  golden-bronze  hair,  was  small 
and  shapely.  Her  hands  were  lying  idly  in  her 
lap,  and  he  saw,  as  he  drew  nearer,  that  in  one 
of  them  she  held  a  short,  thick,  almost  grotesque- 
looking  hammer.  A.  little  pile  of  stones  lay  in  a 
heap  by  her  side.  He  continued  to  advance  noise 
lessly  while  noting  these  details,  and  he  stood 
quite  near  her  on  the  ledge  of  gray  rock  before 
she  seemed  aware  of  his  presence.  When  she 
turned  her  head  with  a  faint,  startled  cry,  he  was 


THE   SONG    OF   THE  OPAL 


not  surprised  to  find  her  beautiful  and  young.  He 
had  expected,  somehow,  just  this  delicate,,  oval 
face,  with  its  velvety,  magnolia-leaf  pallor ;  these 
golden -brown  eyes,  with  their  phosphorescent 
depths,  the  long  curling  lashes,  the  slender  dark 
brows,  the  scarlet  lips,  and  round  girlish  chin. 
Speech  failed  him  utterly  for  the  second  during 
which  they  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes  ;  she 
with  her  first  look  of  surprise  changing  visibly 
from  frowning  inquiry  to  a  kind  of  troubled  de 
light  ;  he  with  a  strange,  confused  stopping  and 
starting  of  his  pulses  that  thrilled  him  from  head 
to  foot. 

' '  Pray,  do  not  let  me  disturb  you,"  he  stam 
mered  at  length.  "I — I  was  only  passing  by." 

"Are  you  come  from  far?"  was  her  unex 
pected  response.  Her  voice  was  singularly  low 
and  musical ;  the  flavor  of  her  speech  was 
distinctly  foreign,  though  the  words  were  pro 
nounced  correctly  and  with  a  kind  of  quaint 
precision. 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  he  made  a  gest 
ure  with  it  towards  his  cabin,  whose  flat  roof 
gleamed  whitely  in  the  valley  below.  "  There  is 
my  home,"  he  said  ;  then  catching,  as  if  by  in 
spiration,  her  real  meaning,  he  added  :  "Yes.  I 
come  from  England." 

"From  England."  She  repeated  the  words 
after  him  slowly ;  and  another  question  rose  into 
her  eyes  and  trembled  perceptibly  on  her  lips ; 
but  she  lowered  her  eyelids  suddenly  and  re 
mained  silent. 

"Are  you  searching  for  the  jewel  ?"  he  asked, 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL  65 

with  a  smile  and  a  significant  glance  at  the  ham 
mer  in  her  lap. 

Her  colorless  face  grew  a  shade  paler;  her  fin 
gers  tightened  their  grasp  about  the  clumsy  han 
dle  of  the  hammer.  "  Yes,"  she  replied,  gravely, 
after  a  momentary  pause.  But,  springing  to  her 
feet,  she  shook  the  fragments  of  stone  and  moss 
from  her  skirts,  and  went  on,  in  a  lighter  tone, 
"It  is  a  foolish  old  legend;  but  I  suppose  every 
body  who  hears  it  comes  up  and  tries  to  find  the 
opal — and  so  I  come  too." 

She  drew  a  black  woollen  scarf  over  her  head 
as  she  spoke,  and  gathered  its  folds  under  her 
chin  ;  then,  with  a  slight  formal  gesture  of 
adieu,  she  stepped  into  the  path  and  went  rap 
idly  down  the  mountain  -  side,  bounding  from 
ledge  to  ledge  with  the  grace  and  fleetness  of  a 
young  fawn.  When  she  had  at  last  disappeared 
from  his  sight,  Dene  walked  deliberately  to  a 
rocky  recess  near  by,  and  drew  from  its  hiding- 
place  his  own  hammer.  He  looked  at  it  curiously 
a  moment,  turning  it  over  and  over  in  his  hand ; 
then,  with  a  quick  upward  jerk  of  his  elbow,  he 
sent  it  spinning  into  the  air,  and  watched  its 
downward  course  as  it  leaped  clanging  from  point 
to  point,  and  dropped  heavily  into  a  brier-grown 
ravine  below.  "I  will  never  use  it  again,"  he 
said,  with  a  whimsical  laugh.  "I  have  found 
the  jewel  of  the  old  quarry.  Who  can  she  be  ?" 
he  went  on.  "Where  did  she  come  from  ?  Not 
from  Logan  Gap  Pre-cink,  surely.  Ah  !  I  will 
ask  Uncle  Dicky.  Are  you  come  from  far  9  Now. 
why  should  she  have  asked  me  that  ?  Have  I 


66  THE   SONG  OF   THE   OPAL 

ever  heard  before  that  the  jewel  of  the  old  quarry 
is  an  opal  ?" 

He  threw  himself  at  full  length  upon  the 
ground,  and  took  from  the  pocket  of  his  blue 
flannel  overshirt  a  little  volume  of  Border  Bal 
lads.  But  the  morning's  adventure  had  gone  to 
his  head.  With  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  the 
printed  page,  he  caught  himself  repeating  me 
chanically,  Are  you  come  from  far?  Are  you 
come  from  far  9 

He  closed  the  book  with  a  snap,  and  got  up. 
"I  think  I'll  go  down  to  the  store  and  get  my 
mail,"  he  declared,  aloud. 

The  sunlight  lay  warm  and  quivering  on  the 
reaches  of  yellow  flowers  and  the  clumps  of  pur 
ple  thistle  abloom  on  the  wind-swept  ridges  of 
the  prairies.  There  was  a  twitter  of  nonpareils 
in  among  the  feathery  branches  of  the  scattering 
mesquite  bushes  ;  and  at  almost  every  turn  of  the 
winding  path  a  whir  of  wings  sounded  beneath 
his  feet,  and  a  covey  of  young  partridges  arose 
with  shrill  cries,  and  dropped  and  disappeared 
again  under  the  warm  shelter  of  the  weeds.  As 
he  approached  the  store  a  horseman  came  riding 
swiftly  down  the  Gap  from  the  west.  The  silver 
ornaments  of  his  bridle  shone  through  the  cloud 
of  gray  dust  which  enveloped  him.  A  second 
horse,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  followed  a  few 
paces  behind  him.  He  halted  in  front  of  the 
store,  and  was  courteously  asking  of  Matthews, 
as  Dene  came  up,  directions  to  Hanger's  Spring, 
some  two  or  three  miles  distant.  The  horse  he 
bestrode  was  a  fine,  powerfully  built  iron-gray, 


THE    SONG    OF   THE   OPAL  67 

with  black  flowing  mane  and  tail ;  the  other, 
which  had  stopped  in  the  shadow  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  was  daintily  cropping  the  short  mesquite 
grass,  was  a  small,  beautifully  formed  bay  mare, 
whose  skin  had  the  gloss  and  smoothness  of  satin. 
A  genuine  feeling  of  admiration  stirred  Dene  at 
the  sight  of  these  two  handsome  animals,  and  he 
glanced  up  at  their  owner  with  the  ready  compli 
ment  of  the  frontiersman  on  his  lips.  But  the 
greeting  died  in  his  throat,  and  he  involuntarily 
fell  back  a  step  or  two.  The  new-comer  was  a 
man  long  past  middle-age — old  in  years,  perhaps, 
though  a  look  of  almost  brutal  strength  pervaded 
his  whole  person.  His  wrinkled  face,  half  hid 
den  by  a  bushy  white  beard  which  descended  al 
most  to  his  knees,  was  brown  as  time  -  stained 
parchment ;  his  dark,  deeply  sunken  eyes  glowed 
like  carbuncles  beneath  thick,  bristly  brows ;  his 
long,  hooked  nose  was  thin,  with  narrow  nostrils 
that  closed  curiously  with  each  indrawn  breath. 
His  legs,  as  he  sat  erect  upon  the  tall  horse,  seemed 
much  too  short  for  his  thick  square  body,  and  his 
powerful-looking  arms  much  too  long ;  his  brown, 
vein-knotted  hands  were  misshapen  and  large, 
the  finger  -  nails  claw  -  like  in  their  length  and 
sharpness.  Altogether  he  was  a  sinister -look 
ing  personage,  and  Dene  was  sensible  of  some 
thing  like  a  feeling  of  relief  when  he  replaced  his 
wide-brimmed  hat  upon  his  head  and  rode  away. 
The  mare  threw  up  her  pretty  head  in  response 
to  a  low  whistle,  and  galloped  lightly  after  him. 
"  What  the  d — 1  is  he  doin'  roun'  yer  agin  ?" 
It  was  Uncle  Dicky  who  spoke.  He  was  stand- 


68  THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 

ing  on  the  door-step,  gazing  after  the  stranger, 
his  wrinkled  old  face  expressing  as  much  dislike 
as  its  genial  outlines  would  permit.  "  He  ain't 
a'ter  no  good,  I'll  lay.  What  the  d— 1  does  he 
want?" 

"A.  rope  and  a  limb,  I  reckon,"  said  Dene, 
good-naturedly,  quoting  one  of  Uncle  Dicky's 
familiar  sayings.  "Who  is  he,  anyhow,  Uncle 
Dicky  ?" 

"  Hello,  Jack  !  howdy  ?  He's  a  durn  Mexi 
can — thet's  what  he  is.  He  useter  call  hisse'f 
Don  Hosy.  I  d'  know  what  he  mought  call  his 
se'f  now.  I  'ain't  seen  him  sence  '67,  an'  thet's 
nigh  twenty  year  ago,  jis  a'ter  I  come  home  fum 
the  wah.  They  wa'n't  scarcely  no  white  folks 
out  yer  then.  Me  an'  Jim  Crump  wuz  campin' 
down  yunder  at  Ranger's  Spring,  an'  this  yer  Don 
Hosy  wuz  layin'  roun'  yer  a-doin'  of  the  Lord 
knows  what.  He  hed  a  gal  long  o'  him  which  he 
purtended  wuz  his  own  chile.  An'  I  don't  no 
mo'  b'leeve  thet  gal  wuz  Don  Hosy's  chile  than  I 
b'leeve — "  .  The  speaker's  eyes  wandered  vaguely 
around  the  group  of  listeners. 
"No  yer  don't,  Unk  Dicky  !" 
"  I  ain't  a-honin  ter  be  a  eggsample." 
"  'Light  on  Joe  Crump  ;  he's  been  a-braggin'." 
Uncle  Dicky  grinned.  "  Waal,"  he  continued, 
"  thet  gal  wuz  here  'long  o'  the  Mexican  one  day, 
an'  the  nex'  day  she  wa'n't  noAvher's  to  be  seen. 
An'  ef  I'd  of  had  my  way,  Don  Hosy'd  of  had  a 
rope  an'  a  lim'  then.  Durn  his  yaller  hide  !  what's 
he  purtendin'  he  don't  know  whar  Ranger's 
Spring  is  fer  ?" 


THE  SONG    OF   THE   OPAL 

"Mighty  fine  hosses  he's  got,"  ventured  one 
of  the  boys. 

"An*  I'd  swear  on  a  stack  o'  Bibles  high  ez 
this  sto'  thet  he  stole  'em,"  retorted  the  old  man, 
angrily. 

Dene  followed  Matthews  into  the  store,  and 
asked  if  there  were  any  letters  for  him.  Mat 
thews  went  behind  the  counter,  and  took  from 
under  it  the  candle-box  that  served  as  a  post- 
office,  and  grabbled  among  the  miscellaneous 
contents.  He  handed  out  a  package  or  two,  a 
bundle  of  newspapers,  and  a  thick  square  enve 
lope  bearing  a  foreign  post-mark. 

"  Hasn't  that  fishing-tackle  of  mine—"  Dene 
began ;  he  stopped  abruptly.  Uncle  Dicky  had 
returned  to  his  seat  by  the  fireplace,  and  Mat 
thews  was  addressing  him  across  the  counter : 

"Hez  that  furrin  gal  got  her  school,  Unk 
Dicky  ?" 

"  Sech  a  fool  time  o'  year  ter  git  up  a  school/' 
put  in  Red  Nabers,  from  the  doorway,  "an'  all 
the  childern  in  the  cotton-patch,  an'  the  Lord 
knows  when  the  crap  '11  be  in.  'Sides,  who's 
knowin'  ef  the  gal  air  fitten  to  teach  ?" 

"Shet  yo'  mouth,  Red,"  said  Uncle  Dicky, 
shortly.  "She  hev  been  tried  by  the  school 
boa'd  in  the  town  o'  Comanche — 

"  Eggsamined  ye  mean,  Unk  Dicky,"  correct 
ed  Billy  Pitt. 

"  She  hev  been  tried  by  the  school  boa'd  in  the 
town  o'  Comanche,"  repeated  the  old  man,  ignor 
ing  the  abashed  young  Billy,  "  an'  Doc  Hamilton 
hev  giv'  her  her  papers,  an'  I  don't  keer  if  ever' 


70  THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 

blame  chile  in  the  pre-cink  air  in  the  cotton- 
patch.  I  nuver  seen  my  ole  woman  an'  Polly's 
gal  childern  tek  sech  a  streak  to  anybody  befo' 
in  all  my  born  days,  an'  thar  in  my  house  thet 
gal  air  goin'  to  stay,  school  er  no  school,  long's 
we  kin  keep  her." 

"  She's  kind  o'  furrin  lak,  ain't  she  ?"  asked 
Matthews,  timidly. 

"  I  d'  knaw,  an'  I  don't  keer.  She  kin  speak 
United  States,  an'  she  kin  keep  Polly's  gal  chil 
dern  out'n  mis-cheef ;  an'  I'll  lay  she  air  caperbul 
o'  teachen  ary  voter  in  this  here  doggon  settle 
ment,  much  less  the  childern." 

"Co'se,  link  Dicky,  co'se,"  admitted  Mat 
thews.  "  Hello,  Jack  !  ye  goin'  ?  Ye  mus'  of 
come  to  git  a  chunk  o'  fire." 

Jack  heard  neither  this  nor  the  other  friendly 
sarcasms  which  were  flung  after  him  as  he  quit 
ted  the  store.  She  had  come  to  stay,  then.  She 
felt  evidently  the  same  romantic  interest  in  the 
legend  of  the  old  quarry  that  had  stirred  himself 
from  the  moment  he  had  set  foot  in  this  remote 
little  valley.  She  would  be  often  there,  no  doubt ; 
she  would—  He  pulled  himself  together,  with 
a  short  laugh,  and  set  resolutely  to  work  in  his 
little  field. 

"  I  cannot  get  that  girl  out  of  my  head,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  try,"  he  murmured  that  night, 
in  a  half  -  aggrieved  tone;  "and,  by  Jove!  I'll 
take  her  some  flowers  to-morrow." 

He  was  walking  impatiently  up  and  down  the 
narrow  garden  path  in  the  odorous  dusk.  The 
few  hardy  roses  glimmered  palely  on  the  over- 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL  71 

grown  bushes  ;  they  were  almost  scentless.  But 
there  was  a  pungent  perfume  from  the  marigolds 
in  the  heart  of  the  asparagus  bed  ;  by  daylight 
these  were  a  blaze  of  vivid  orange.  A  straggling- 
array  of  blue  and  white  larkspur  filled  all  one 
corner  of  the  patch  ;  a  mass  of  brown  gold-dust 
ed  nasturtiums  shone  against  the  sombre  wall  of 
the  cabin,  and  the  ragged  mignonette  clustered 
about  the  door-step  was  still  in  bloom.  "  Yes/'  he 
repeated/ '  to-morrow  I  will  take  her  some  flowers. " 

He  saw  her  the  next  morning  long  before  he 
reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  She  was  com 
ing  down  the  winding  path ;  her  shawled  head 
was  bent  upon  her  breast.  He  could  see  her 
slender  form  now  clearly  defined  against  the  blue 
sky,  now  moving  between  gray  masses  of  rock. 
Once  she  stopped  and  stooped ;  he  felt  sure  that 
she  was  hiding  her  hammer  in  some  fern-hung 
cleft. 

He  waited  for  her  by  a  lichen-covered  bowlder 
jutting  out  from  the  abrupt  curve  of  the  moun 
tain.  He  thought  that  a  faint  look  of  pleasure 
came  into  her  eyes  when  she  caught  sight  of  him  ; 
and  as  she  drew  near  he  greeted  her  silently,  hold 
ing  out  the  flowers,  a  great  awkward  dewy  posy. 
"I  thank  you,  sefior,"  she  said,  simply,  taking 
them,  and  looking  at  him  over  them  with  won 
derful  shining  eyes,  golden-brown  as  the  nastur 
tiums  themselves. 

He  had  meant  to  tell  her  of  the  garden-patch 
about  his  cabin  door,  and  of  the  homely  mother 
flowers  he  had  planted  there,  but  before  he  could 
bring  himself  to  speak  she  was  gone. 


72  THE   SONG   OP  THE    OPAL 

The  next  day  he  was  up  betimes.  A  monoto 
nous,,  windless  rain  was  falling,  the  sort  of  rain 
through  which  the  bob-whites  call,  and  which 
seems  to  hush  every  other  living  thing  on  the 
prairie  into  silence.  In  spite  of  it  he  went  up 
to  the  quarry,  telling  himself  persistently  that 
she  could  not  possibly  be  there,  yet  wholly  taken 
aback  when  he  did  not  find  her  there. 

Twenty-four  hours  later  the  rain  was  over,  and 
the  October  sun  warmer  and  more  golden  still  on 
the  clean-washed  bowlders.  She  was  there.  He 
heard  the  little  clicking  sound  of  her  hammer  as 
he  came  up  the  trail.  She  received  his  flowers 
as  before,  with  a  kind  of  gentle  gravity.  And 
this  time  he  found  it  easy  enough  to  say:  "  They 
are  all  English  flowers.  I  planted  them  around 
my  cabin  yonder  when  I  first  came.  And  you've 
no  idea  how  they  bloom.  If  the  gardener — if 
some  of  the  people  at  home  who  grow  flowers 
could  see  them,  they  would  turn  green  with 
envy." 

"  Why  did  you  come  ?"  she  demanded,  ab 
ruptly. 

Again  he  divined  the  undercurrent  of  her 
thought.  "  Oh/'  he  replied,  a  trifle  embar 
rassed,  ' '  I  can  hardly  say.  I  had  a  restless  sort 
of  feeling  that  seemed  to  drive  me,  and  I  drifted 
about  the  world  until  I  found  myself  here.  The 
place  suited  me,  and  so  I  have  stayed  on.  I  sup 
pose  I  shall  have  to  go  back  some  day." 

"  When  you  have  found  the  opal  ?"  Her  tone 
was  light,  but  a  frown  contracted  her  smooth  fore 
head  as  she  spoke. 


THE   SONG  OF   THE   OPAL  73 

"Yes,  when  I  have  found  the  opal/'  he  said, 
flushing  at  a  sudden  mental  vision  of  his  ham 
mer  flying  out  into  space  and  dropping  down 
ward. 

"  Do  you  know  the  tradition  ?"  she  asked. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  little  rock  hut  in  the 
valley. 

"I  know  Uncle  Dicky's  version  of  it,"  he  re 
plied,  smiling. 

t<  There  is  a  beautiful  and  wonderful  jewel— 
an  opal — which  may  be  found  here — "  she  began, 
in  measured  monotone. 

"In  a  turtle-shaped  stone.  I  know,"  he  in 
terrupted,  gayly. 

"  But  it  is  not  a  jewel  only,"  she  went  on,  un 
heeding  ;  "  it  is  a  talisman  that  brings  to  its  pos 
sessor  riches  and  power  and  —  oh,  I  know  not 
what  beside."  Surely  a  cold  pallor  was  creeping 
over  her  lovely  face.  ' '  They  are  very  rare,  those 
jewels.  And  they  say  that  only  a  man  or  a  wom 
an  of  the  slave  people  can  find  them." 

"  Slave  people  !"  he  echoed,  inquiringly. 

"I  forgot  that  you  do  not  know,"  she  an 
swered,  turning  her  large  eyes  upon  him  and 
smiling  wistfully.  "A  long,  oh,  a  very  long 
time  ago,  a  people,  a  dark  and  terrible  people, 
used  to  come  here  from — from  another  country 
to  seek  for  those  jewels.  But  they  had  not 
the  power  themselves  to  find  them.  And  they 
brought  with  them  the  strange,  beautiful  white 
people  whom  they  had  conquered  and  made  to 
be  their  slaves.  And  it  was  that  of  all  the  peo 
ple  in  the  whole  world  those  slaves  only  might 


THE   SONG    OF   THE   OPAL 


find  those  jewels.  So  the  masters  sat  and 
watched  with  eyes  like  coals  of  fire  while  the 
white  slaves  digged  and  brought  up  the  little 
turtle-shaped  stones  from  the  quarry.  And  it 
was  only  once  in  a  great  while  that  an  opal  was 
found  in  the  little  stones ;  and  then  there  was 
strife  and  bloodshed  among  the  masters.  And 
many  slaves  died  to  find  one  opal.  Oh  yes,  the 
masters  were  dark  and  terrible,  but  the  slaves 
were  white  and  lovely.  The  men  were  tall  and 
strong  and  beautiful " — she  lifted  her  eyes  that 
said  like  you  to  his,  and  then  dropped  them  so 
that  the  long,  silken  lashes  rested  on  her  white 
cheek — "and  the  women  were  lithe  and  grace- 
ful- 

"Like  you,"  he  breathed  involuntarily. 

A  faint  flush  passed  over  her  face  and  died 
away  along  her  full  throat.  "They  say,"  she 
presently  added,  looking  up  suddenly,  "  that 
some  of  those  slave  people  still  live  in  that  far 
country  and  elsewhere,  and  that  if  they  came 
they  might  find  the  opal  for  their  masters." 

"If  they  found  it  they  would  most  likely 
keep  it  for  themselves.  I  should,"  he  declared, 
lightly. 

"  Oh,  you  would  not  dare  !"  she  cried,  her 
voice  sharpened  by  some  inexplicable  feeling ; 
it  sounded  like  terror.  "  But  it  is  a  foolish  tale," 
she  resumed,  more  naturally,  rising  and  stepping 
down  into  the  trail. 

He  followed  her  hastily  as  she  began  the  de 
scent.  She  heard  his  footsteps  behind  her  and 
paused,  looking  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPA  l,  75 

"  Do  you  know/''  he  found  himself  saying  be 
fore  he  knew  it — "do  you  know  that  I  do  not 
even  know  your  name  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Atla,"  she  replied,  after  a  mo 
mentary  hesitation.  And  she  sped  rapidly  on 
her  way. 

He  returned  to  the  quarry.  Atla!  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  ought  to  have  known  it  without 
the  telling,  that  soft  -  syllabled  name— the  only 
name  that  could  ever  have  been  hers.  He  did 
not  find  it  strange  that  she  should  not  have  told 
him  her  surname.  Let  that  be  for  the  outside 
world.  He  did  not  wish  to  know  it.  He  would 
be  glad  for  her  to  have  no  other  for  him  until 
she  should  be  called  Atla  Dene!  "And  why 
not  ?"  he  reasoned,  as  if  in  answer  to  the  inevi 
table  arguments  of  all  the  Denes.  "Why  should 
she  not  be  my  wife  ?  I  have  never  looked  at  a 
woman  in  all  my  life  before.  I  will  never  look 
at  any  other  after  her.  I  am  my  own  master,  and 
if  I  can  win  her,  why — so  much  for  the  Denes  !* 

After  that  there  were  many  meetings  on  the 
mountain -top  in  the  hazy  dawn  of  the  sweet 
Indian  -  summer  mornings.  Sometimes  she  did 
not  come,  and  then  the  day  was  a  blank  to  him, 
though  he  busied  himself  as  usual  about  his  field 
and  cabin,  and  hunted  with  ardor  betweenwhiles 
over  the  browning  prairies  and  up  the  leaf-strewn 
mountain  ravines.  He  rarely  saw  any  of  the  Gap 
folks  nowadays.  He  kept  purposely  away  from 
the  store,  where,  had  he  but  known  it,  his  "keep- 
in'  company"  with  the  new  school-teacher  was  a 
topic  of  friendly  interest. 


76  THE   SONG  OF  THE  OPAL 

"I  seen  'em  a-settin'  on  the  aidge  o'  the  ole 
quayry,"  Uncle  Dicky  told  the  boys,  "when  I 
wuz  boguein'  roun'  thar  'mongst  the  rocks.  An' 
I  'lowed  innardly  ez  how  they  mus'  be  gittin' 
ready  to  jine.  Lord  !  it  air  plumb  natchl  fer 
young  folks  ter  jine.  Yo'  unk  Dicky  hev  been 
thar." 

To  this  simple-minded  people  there  was  noth 
ing  strange  or  unconventional  in  these  early 
morning  meetings  on  Quarry  Mountain.  Jack 
Dene  was  "  courting"  that  was  all.  And  by-and- 
by  there  would  come  the  wedding,  and  an  infair, 
perhaps,  at  Uncle  Dicky's,  at  which  all  the  girls 
and  boys  about  the  Gap  would  dance.  This  love 
affair  between  the  man  who  was  "hidin'out" 
and  the  soft-voiced  "furrin"  young  teacher  who 
came  down  from  the  mountain  of  mornings  to 
marshal  her  tow-headed  flock  into  the  log  school- 
house,  and  the  unexplained  stay  of  Don  Jose, 
who  rarely  showed  himself  at  the  Gap,  however, 
were  the  subjects  mostly  discussed  by  the  circle 
around  Matthews' s  mesquite  fire. 

Dene,  who  had  never  seen  Don  Jose  since  the 
day  of  his  arrival,  had  long  ago  forgotten  the  evil- 
favored  old  Mexican. 

One  morning,  when  he  seated  himself  as  usual 
beside  the  young  girl  on  the  edge  of  the  quarry, 
he  was  conscious  of  some  change  in  her  appear 
ance.  It  puzzled  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
made  it  out  to  be  her  dress.  She  wore  white — 
she  whom  he  had  always  seen  robed  in  sombre 
black.  A  curious  sort  of  rapture  possessed  him 
as  he  looked  at  the  slight  figure  in  its  girlish 


THE   SONG  OF  THE  OPAL  77 

gown  of  clinging  wool.  He  bent  towards  her, 
his  lips  almost  touching  her  hair,  and  murmured 
some  words  inarticulate  even  to  himself.  But  he 
started  back  in  dismay  when  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  his.  She  had  been  weeping.  Her  cheeks, 
usually  so  pale,  were  flushed,  and  her  eyelids 
were  swollen  and  heavy.  He  turned  away  trou 
bled  and  embarrassed,  and  began  pulling  ner 
vously  at  a  tuft  of  thyme  which  grew  in  a  fissure 
of  the  ledge  beside  him.  The  loose  root  gave 
way  suddenly,  and  a  stone  detached  itself  from 
the  crevice  and  dropped  out.  He  caught  it  as  it 
fell.  A  thrill  of  excitement  stirred  him  as  he 
turned  it  over  in  his  palm.  Here  was  at  last  one 
of  Uncle  Dicky's  "  turkles" — a  small  oval  of  dark, 
corrugated  rock.  He  laid  it  on  the  ledge  and 
seized  the  hammer  lying  in  Atla's  lap.  An  ex 
clamation  broke  from  her  which  he  neither  heard 
nor  heeded.  He  struck  a  vigorous  blow,  and  the 
two  halves  of  the  sphere  flew  apart. 

Was  it  a  bit  of  glowing  red-hot  coal  which  fell 
from  the  pink,  almond-shaped  cavity  and  lay 
throbbing  and  quivering  upon  the  gray  ledge  ? 
Was  it  a  great  drop  of  shining,  transparent  dew 
with  a  heart  of  greenish  flame  ?  Was  it  a  living, 
leaping,  azure-tipped  blaze  ?  A  sheaf  of  ardent, 
purple-shotted  rays  ?  He  uttered  a  cry  of  ad 
miration  as  he  picked  it  up. 

"  See,  Atla,  the  opal !" 

But  her  face  was  buried  in  her  hands.  She 
was  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  moaning  in 
unmistakable  anguish.  He  looked  at  her  won- 
deringly  ;  then  thrusting  the  gem  into  the  breast- 


78  THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 

pocket  of  his  shirt,  he  leaned  over  and  touched  her 
gently  on  the  arm.  "  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it,  Atla  ?" 
"Oh,"  she  moaned,  "I  knew  it  from  the  first 
that  you  were  one  of  us.  Do  you  not  see,"  she 
cried,  facing  him  suddenly,  "have  you  not  un 
derstood,  that  I  am  one  of  that  race  which  pos 
sesses  the  power  to  find  the  talismanic  jewel  ? 
Do  you  not  see  that  you,  too,  are  of  that  fated 
slave  people  ?  My  mother  died — here — on  this 
very  edge  of  this  accursed  quarry" — she  looked 
around  shudderingly.  "He  brought  her  here 
when  she,  too,  was  young,  hardly  older  than  I  am 
now,  to  search  for  the  opal.  She  laid  me  in  the 
arms  of  my  old  nurse  when  he  took  her  away,  and 
she  never  came  back.  And  it  was  that  only  I 
was  left  who  might  find  it  for  him.  It  was  for 
this  that  he  had  me  taught  to  speak  the  tongue 
of  the  dear  good  people  who  live  here.  It  was 
for  this  that  he  brought  masters  to  show  me 
music  and  singing,  and  the  way  to  gather  little 
children  about  my  knee  and  teach  them  to  read 
from  pictured  books.  It  was  that  he  might  bring 
me  here  and  set  me  to  the  task  without  exciting 
suspicion.  He  brought  me  here  —  himself — at 
night,  and  explained  to  me  in  his  cold  and  ter 
rible  way  how  I  must  search  for  the  little  round 
stones  and  break  them  with  the  hammer.  He 
comes  nightly  to  see  whether  I  have  been  truly 
at  work.  Last  night  he  called  me  with  the 
strange,  awful  call.  I  heard  him  in  the  cabin, 
where  I  sat  with  the  children,  and  I  came.  Ah  !" 
a  long,  quivering  cry  escaped  her,  and  she  buried 
her  face  again  in  her  hands. 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL  79 

He  had  hardly  heard  her  frantic  outburst  of 
words.  He  had  made  no  effort  to  understand 
her,  conscious  only  of  an  overwhelming  desire  to 
take  her  in  his  arms  and  soothe  her  out  of  the 
superstitious  delusion,  whatever  it  might  be,  into 
which  she  had  fallen. 

"There  is  a  song  of  the  opal/7  she  went  on, 
lifting  her  head  and  regarding  him  with  wild 
eyes  ;  "it  was  sad  when  my  mother  sang  it,  sad 
as  life  and  death  even  to  my  baby  ears  ;  it  is 
weird  and  strange  when  my  nurse  croons  it  yon 
der — yonder  in  the  far  land  where  she  waits  for 
me  in  the  shadows  of  the  passion-vine  ;  it  is  ter 
rible  when  the  master  chants  it. "  She  broke  ab 
ruptly  into  a  kind  of  rude  rhythmic  strain,  her 
voice  scarcely  reaching  farther  than  the  half- 
heedless  ears  of  her  companion  : 

"Fateful  and  'wondrous  art  thou,  0  far-shin 
ing  Opal,  compeller  of  stars  in  their  courses  ;  of 
red  gold  in  the  rock-hidden  chambers ;  of  woman, 
yea,  woman,  white-bosomed,  with  long-lidded  eyes 
that  speak  passion. 

"Alas,  thou  art  sealed  in  the  womb  of  the 
mountain!  Hidden  in  roseate  flint  is  the  joy  of 
thy  shining.  Who  forth  can  compel  thee?  win) 
master  thy  secret? 

"Nay,  before  me  I  drive  the  ivhite  slave-gang, 
tawny  -  haired,  and  with  cheeks  that  are  pallid. 
Deep  in  the  womb  of  the  earth  let  them  burrow ; 
they  alone  have  the  power  to  conjure  thee! 

"Leap  from  the  matrix,  my  Beauty!  The 
white  slave  from  the  depth  of  the  quarry  hath 
fetched  thee.  Mine  enemy,  now  in  my  hand  lies 


80  THE   SONG   OF  THE   OPAL 

thy  Heart-beat.  Red  gold,  tliou  art  mine ;  and 
woman,  yea,  woman,  white -bosomed,  with  long- 
lidded  eyes  that  speak  passion !" 

She  paused.  "  There  is  yet  a  stanza/'  she  said, 
"but  I — I—  She  faltered,  and  a  rain  of  tears 
gushed  from  beneath  her  down-drooped  eyelids. 

He  was  almost  beside  himself  with  love  and 
compassion.  He  leaned  towards  her,  drawing  her 
hands  from  her  face,  and  compelling  her  eyes  to 
meet  his.  "  Atla,"  he  whispered,  "look  at  me. 
I  love  you — I  love  you  !" 

As  she  drooped  against  his  breast  with  a  long- 
drawn,  sobbing  sigh,  the  hammer  lying  on  the 
moss-grown  ledge  dropped  over  into  the  pit, 
slipped  down  between  the  weather-worn  rocks, 
and  rested  out  of  sight  in  the  bottom  of  the 
quarry. 

When  the  hour  came  for  the  gathering  of  her 
little  flock,  he  descended  the  mountain  with  her. 
It  was  the  first  time.  It  was  the  beginning  of 
their  life-journey  together,  he  told  her,  gayly, 
helping  her  with  all  a  lover's  carefulness  along 
the  path  she  had  so  often  traversed  alone.  They 
stopped  by  the  bowlder  where  he  had  once 
watched  her  coming  down  with  the  dew-wet  posy 
in  his  hand. 

"  How  I  hate  Polly  Crawls's  tow-headed  brats!" 
he  exclaimed,  playfully,  when  she  turned  at  last 
to  leave  him. 

"  They  are  not  tow-headed  at  all,"  she  remon 
strated,  seriously.  "  They  are  dear  little  girls, 
and  I  love  them — Jack."  How  sweet  and  strange 
the  familiar  name  sounded  on  her  lips  ! 


THE   SONG   OF    THE    OPAL  81 

"  Do  you  ?  Well,  then,  I  will  come  over  to 
Uncle  Dicky's  this  very  night  to  see  them — and 
yon/7  he  laughed.  Then,  as  a  sudden  recollec 
tion  struck  him,  "A  slave  I"  he  cried — "a  slave 
did  you  call  me,  Atla  ?"  He  caught  her  hands 
in  his  and  drew  her  towards  him.  "A  slave! 
Why,  I  am  a  king  I" 

He  felt  her  long,  firm  fingers  grow  cold  and 
tighten  like  manacles  upon  his  wrists  as  he  spoke. 
Her  eyes  dilated,  and  a  gray  pallor  swept  over 
her  face.  He  followed  the  direction  of  her  gaze. 
The  old  Mexican,  Don  Jose,  was  coming  slowly 
along  the  narrow  pathway  from  around  the  spur 
of  the  mountain.  His  shaggy  head  was  bent ;  his 
bushy  brows  knit  together ;  his  lips  were  moving 
silently ;  his  long  arms  swung  loosely  at  his  side. 
He  looked  impassively  at  the  girl  as  he  passed, 
and  turned  his  deeply  set  eyes  for  a  second  upon 
her  companion.  A  flame  leaped  into  them  like  a 
sudden  flash  of  lightning.  A  curious  numbness 
crept  over  John  Dene,  and  a  sensation  which  in 
all  his  life  he  had  never  felt  before — a  sensation 
of  abject,  unreasoning,  unreasonable  terror — pos 
sessed  him.  It  was  gone  before  he  could  define 
it,  and  Don  Jose  with  lowered  eyelids  went  slowly 
on  his  way,  and  disappeared  behind  a  thick-set 
motte  of  live-oak. 

' '  He  knows  I"  gasped  Atla,  the  ashen  gray  in 
her  cheeks  fading  to  a  ghastly  white. 

" Knows  what?  Who?"  Dene  asked,  bewil 
dered.  Then,  a  vague  light  struggling  into  his 
brain,  he  exclaimed,  "Is  he — is  Don  Jose — " 

ft  Don   Jose   is   my  master,"   she   whispered, 


82  THE   SONG    OF   THE   OPAL 

hoarsely,  glancing  fearfully  over  her  shoulder. 
"  Oh,  he  knows  V  she  sobbed,  wildly.  "Madrc 
de  Dios,  he  knows  !" 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  soothing  her  with 
caresses  and  incoherent  words.  "  But  listen, 
Atla,"  he  insisted  at  length  ;  "listen,  you  absurd 
child.  Are  you  really  afraid  of  Don  Jose  ?  Is  it 
because  of  the  opal  ?  If  you  feel  like  this,  why, 
let  him  have  it.  I— 

At  this  she  clung  only  the  more  frantically  to 
him.  "Never!  never!"  she  almost  shrieked. 
"  Oh  !  promise  me  that  you  will  hide  it  from 
him.  Promise  !  promise  !" 

"I  will  promise  anything  you  like,  my  darling," 
he  replied;  "but  surely  you  know  that  in  this 
country  at  least  no  one  is  a  slave  ;  that  you  can 
leave  Don  Jose  if  he  is  your  guardian — whatever 
he  is — at  any  moment  you  wish.  I  will  take  you 
away  myself.  Ah,  when  you  are  my  wife  he  will 
not  dare  to  come  near  you." 

She  lifted  her  face  from  his  breast  and  gave 
him  an  eager,  searching  look.  "  You  will  take 
me  away  ?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

He  gathered  her  more  closely  in  his  arms.  "  So 
far  away,  Atla,  that  he  can  never  find  you  again." 

"  When  ?"  she  demanded,  almost  sharply. 

"Now  —  this  very  moment,"  he  responded, 
laughingly,  sweeping  her  a  step  or  two  forward. 

But  she  repeated  her  question  yet  more  grave 
ly:  "  When  ?  Will  it  be  to-night  ?" 

He  looked  at  her,  doubtful  whether  he  had 
heard  aright. 

"Listen,"  she  continued,  hurriedly,  clasping 


THE    SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 


her  hands  about  his  arm:  "if  yon  will  take  me 
away,  let  it  be  to-night.  I  am  afraid  of  him — 
Mother  of  God,  how  I  am  afraid  !  To-night, 
Jack,  if  yon  will — let  it  be  to-night.  I  will  wait 
for  yon  around  the  mountain  in  the  edge  of  the 
Gap,  by  the  big  rock  in  the  shadow.  I  will  have 
Huayrie  there.  Oh,  she  is  mine,  the  beautiful 
creature  !  She  will  come  to  me  if  I  but  call  her 
ever  so  lightly.  I  know  where  he  hides  her  when 
he  comes  at  night  to  the  Gap,  and  waits  beyond 
the  west  ridge  for  the  midnight,  to  creep  up  to 
the  quarry.  I  will  wait  for  you  with  Huay 
rie,  and  when  it  is  night — as  soon  as  it  is  well 
night — you  will  come  for  me,  and  you  will  take 
me  away." 

He  covered  her  feverish  lips  with  kisses.  Would 
he  come  ?  Oh,  love  and  life  !  All  the  blood  in 
his  heart  leaped  and  throbbed  at  the  thought. 
"Do  you  understand,  Atla  ?"  he  said  at  last. 
"  By  this  time  to-morrow  you  will  be  my  wife, 
and  we  will  be  setting  our  faces  towards  England." 

"  You  will  come  ?"  she  repeated,  a  tender  color 
dawning  upon  her  tear-wet  cheeks. 

"Yes,  I  will  come." 

"  But  you  will  not  go  to  your  cabin,  Jack  !  You 
must  not  go  to  your  cabin.  Promise  me  that  too  !" 
she  exclaimed,  as  if  struck  by  some  new  and  ter 
rifying  thought. 

He  smiled  indulgently.  His  mind  was  already 
busied  with  plans  for  their  flight,  and  he  mur 
mured  some  sort  of  assent,  with  his  lips  upon 
hers.  And  then  she  left  him.  He  watched  her 
out  of  sight.  At  the  last  turn  of  the  path  she 


84  THE   SONG  OF  THE   OPAL 

paused  and  smiled  back  at  him,  waving  a  light 
adieu  with  her  slender  hand. 

He  turned  mechanically  in  the  direction  of  his 
cabin,  but  halted  perplexed,  smiling  at  the  recol 
lection  of  the  half -promise  he  had  given.  "  But 
I  will  keep  it/'  he  said  to  himself,  tenderly— 
' '  the  first  promise  made  to  my  sweetheart.  Oh 
yes,  I  will  keep  it.  I  can  send  a  line  to  Uncle 
Dicky  from  town ;  that  will  do  just  as  well." 
And  he  struck  once  more  into  the  trail  and  went 
up  the  mountain. 

Towards  nightfall  he  came  out  upon  the  point 
overlooking  the  valley.  The  world  below  was  suf 
fused  with  the  serene  radiance  of  sunset.  Miles 
away  the  straggling  little  town  shone  like  an 
enchanted  city,  its  spires  tipped  with  gold,  its 
windows  gleaming  like  many -colored  jewels. 
A  young  moon  hung  tenderly  luminous  in  the 
western  sky ;  above  it  a  bank  of  fleecy  cloud  was 
gathering  ;  a  flock  of  wild  -  geese  shaped  their 
arrowy  flight  southward  with  sharp  cries  across 
the  slowly  coming  twilight. 

"There's  a  norther  behind  that  flock  of  geese, 
and  plenty  of  Uncle  Dicky's  rain-seed  in  that 
bank  of  cloud/'  commented  the  lonely  watcher. 

Lights  appeared  at  the  store  and  twinkled 
here  and  there  in  the  scattered  cabins.  It  was 
night  in  the  valley.  His  heart  gave  a  great 
bound.  He  cast  one  last  long  look  around,  and 
began  the  descent. 

When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain  he 
made  his  way  quietly  to  the  shed  where  Roland 
was  stabled.  He  threw  the  high-pommelled  sad- 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL  85 

die  on  the  horse's  back,  and  buckled  the  girth 
rapidly  and  deftly.  She  was  there  by  this  time 
waiting  for  him.  He  put  a  foot  in  the  stirrup, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  Roland's  arched  neck.  All 
at  once  there  flashed  across  his  mind  a  thought 
of  his  mother's  picture,  lying  in  its  tiny  oval  case 
on  his  mantel.  Could  he  leave  behind  him  that 
dear  shadow  of  a  face  which  in  all  his  life  had 
never  worn  a  frown  for  him  ?  After  all  it  was 
not  really  a  promise.  She  was  half  crazed  by 
some  superstitious  fear,  poor  child.  He  smiled, 
and  touched  the  hilt  of  his  knife,  and  felt  the 
handle  of  the  pistol  in  his  belt.  He  walked  rap 
idly  across  the  field,  hard  beset  not  to  shout 
aloud  the  exultation  that  possessed  him.  In  the 
little  garden-patch  he  paused  a  moment.  The 
sweet  familiar  perfume  of  the  night  -  hidden 
flowers  moved  him  strangely.  He  stooped  and 
plucked  a  lavender  leaf  in  the  darkness.  Its 
dewy  fragrance  brought  before  him  a  swift  vision 
of  his  waiting  bride.  He  thrust  it  in  his  bosom 
and  went  into  the  cabin.  The  dog,  lying  across 
the  threshold,  leaped  up  against  him,  barking 
joyously.  He  found  the  miniature  without  strik 
ing  a  light,  and  came  out,  shutting  the  heavy 
door  behind  him.  As  he  stepped  again  into  the 
garden-path  a  misshapen  form  rose  up  from  be 
hind  the  tangled  morning-glory  and  cypress  vines. 
The  dog  sprang  forward  with  a  growl,  which 
changed  into  a  frightened  whine.  There  was 
no  other  outcry,  scarcely  a  struggle  ;  a  long  keen 
blade  flashed  in  the  starlight,  once,  twice,  thrice ; 
and  borne  backward  by  powerful,  sinewy  arms, 


86  THE   SONG   OF   THE   OPAL 

John  Dene  sank  heavily  to  the  ground,  crushing 
the  late-blooming  roses  and  the  mignonette  in  his 
fall.  Don  Jose  drew  the  knife  out  of  his  vic 
tim's  breast  with  some  difficulty,  kneeling  upon 
the  body.  Then,  with  unerring  instinct,  he 
plunged  his  hand  in  the  breast-pocket  of  the 
hunting-shirt,  and  drew  forth  the  opal.  It  flashed 
like  a  meteor  in  the  darkness  as  he  opened  his 
palm  for  a  second  to  gloat  upon  it.  Stooping 
still  lower  then,  he  fumbled  about  the  wound 
whence  gushed  a  palpitating  stream  of  blood. 
Once,  twice,  thrice  he  buried  his  clinched  hand 
in  the  warm  red  rivulet,  letting  it  trickle  slowly 
through  his  knotty  fingers. 

A  kind  of  exultant  sigh  escaped  his  lips  as  he 
stood  erect.  Then  he  glided  stealthily  across  the 
uneven  field  to  the  shed  where  Roland  stood 
awaiting  his  master. 

The  upturned  face  of  the  master  grew  whiter 
and  whiter  ;  his  limbs  stiffened  ;  a  warm  reeking 
odor  of  blood  mingled  with  the  breath  of  the 
English  flowers.  The  dog  watching  beside  him 
shivered  and  moaned  like  a  thing  possessed. 

Around  the  spur  of  the  mountain  Atla  was 
waiting ;  she  held  the  jewelled  bridle  in  her 
hand,  standing  close  beside  Huayrie.  Now  and 
again  she  laid  her  soft  cheek  against  the  satin 
shoulder  of  her  playmate,  and  caressed  her  with 
syllables  of  an  unknown  and  musical  language. 
She  laughed  joyously  when  the  mare  responded 
with  a  half -breathed  whinny  of  delight.  "  Oh, 
my  Huayrie," she  whispered,  "he  is  coming  !r 

She  had  forgotten  all  her  fears.     Down  at  the 


THE   SONG   OF    THE  OPAL  87 

Crawlses'  cabin  awhile  ago,  as  she  stepped  towards 
the  open  door,  old  Granny  Crawls,  sitting  in  the 
chimney-corner,  had  said,  "  Lord,  chile,  ye  air 
thet  peart  and  rosy  thet  it  air  a  plumb  pleasure 
to  look  at  ye  I" 

"  Oh,  my  Huayrie/'  she  breathed  once  more, 
"he  is  coming  !" 

The  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  treading  softly  as 
only  Roland  could  tread,  trained  to  a  hunter's 
need,  was  on  the  still  air.  Nearer  it  came  and 
nearer  ;  swifter  too,  and  in  that  she  read  her 
lover's  impatience.  A  second  more  and  the  horse 
and  his  rider  had  turned  the  shadow  of  the  rock 
and  had  paused.  A  long  arm,  down-stretched, 
caught  her  lithe,  light  form  in  its  grip  of  steel, 
and  swung  her  to  the  saddle.  A  terrible  voice 
hissed  in  her  ear  a  single  sentence  in  a  strange, 
uncouth  tongue.  Her  head  drooped  forward  on 
her  breast.  Don  Jose  seized  the  mare's  bridle- 
rein,  and  a  moment  later  the  clatter  of  horses' 
hoofs  flying  westward  came  echoing  down  the 
G-ap  on  the  first  long  shuddering  wail  of  the 
coming  norther. 

Now  this  was  that  strain  of  the  Song  of  the 
Opal  which  Atla  wist  not  how  to  sing  to  her 
lover  that  morning  on  the  crest  of  Quarry  Moun 
tain  : 

"Yea,  tJiou  art  loosed  from  the  womb  of  thy 
mother,  rejoicing  and  lovely  and  proud,  but  not 
yet,  not  yet  hast  thou  put  on  thy  strength  as  a 
garment.  Far  shining  but  impotent  art  thou  till 
thou  comest  from  the  blood  bath  ! 


88  THE   SONG   OF    THE   OPAL 

"Thrice  in  the  blood  of  thy  Finder — his  heart' 8 
blood — thrice  must  I  bathe  thee,  my  Opal,  my  Mis 
tress,  compeller  of  stars  in  their  courses  ;  of  red 
gold  in  rock -hidden  chambers;  of  woman,  yea, 
ivoman,  white-bosomed,  with  long-lidded  eyes  that 
speak  passion  ! 

"Drink  deep  of  the  blood  of  the  White  Slave, 
my  Beauty ;  drink  deep,  and  so  clothe  thee  with 
power  as  a  garment !" 


MADAME    RAYMONDE-ARNAULT 


AT   LA  GLOBIEUSE 


MADAME  RAYMONDS  -  AENAULT  leaned  her 
head  against  the  back  of  her  garden  -  chair,  and 
watched  the  young  people  furtively  from  beneath 
her  half-closed  eyelids.  (i  He  is  about  to  speak/' 
she  murmured  under  her  breath  ;  "she,  at  least, 
will  be  happy  I"  and  her  heart  fluttered  violent 
ly,  as  if  it  had  been  her  own  thin,  bloodless 
hand  which  Richard  Keith  was  holding  in  his ; 
her  dark,  sunken  eyes,  instead  of  Felice's  brown 
ones,  which  drooped  beneath  his  tender  gaze. 

Marcelite,  the  old  bonne,  who  stood  erect  and 
stately  behind  her  mistress,  permitted  herself 
also  to  regard  them  for  a  moment  with  some 
thing  like  a  smile  relaxing  her  sombre,  yellow 
face  ;  then  she  too  turned  her  turbaned  head 
discreetly  in  another  direction. 

The  plantation  house  at  La  G-lorieuse  is  built 
in  a  shining  loop  of  Bayou  L'JSperon.  A  level 
grassy  lawn,  shaded  by  enormous  live  -  oaks, 
stretches  across  from  the  broad  stone  steps  to 
the  sodded  levee,  where  a  flotilla  of  small  boats, 
drawn  up  among  the  flags  and  lily-pads,  rise  and 
fall  with  the  lapping  waves.  On  the  left  of  the 


90  AT   LA   GLOIUEUSE 

house  the  white  cabins  of  the  quarter  show  their 
low  roofs  above  the  shrubbery  ;  to  the  right  the 
plantations  of  cane,  following  the  inward  curve 
of  the  bayou,  sweep  southward  field  after  field, 
their  billowy,  blue-green  reaches  blending  far  in 
the  rear  with  the  indistinct  purple  haze  of  the 
swamp.  The  great  square  house,  raised  high  on 
massive  stone  pillars,  dates  back  to  the  first  quar 
ter  of  the  century  ;  its  sloping  roof  is  set  with 
rows  of  dormer-windows,  the  big  red  double 
chimneys  rising  oddly  from  their  midst ;  wide 
galleries  with  fluted  columns  enclose  it  on  three 
sides  ;  from  the  fourth  is  projected  a  long,  nar 
row  wing,  two  stories  in  height,  which  stands 
somewhat  apart  from  the  main  building,  but  is 
connected  with  it  by  a  roofed  and  latticed  pas 
sageway.  The  lower  rooms  of  this  wing  open 
upon  small  porticos,  with  balustrades  of  wrought 
iron -work  rarely  fanciful  and  delicate.  From 
these  you  may  step  into  the  rose-garden — a  tan 
gled  pleasance  which  rambles  away  through  al 
leys  of  wild-peach  and  magnolia  to  an  orange- 
grove,  whose  trees  are  gnarled  and  knotted  with 
the  growth  of  half  a  century. 

The  early  shadows  were  cool  and  dewy  there 
that  morning ;  the  breath  of  damask-roses  was 
sweet  on  the  air ;  brown,  gold-dusted  butterflies 
were  hovering  over  the  sweet -peas  abloom  in 
sunny  corners ;  birds  shot  up  now  and  then  from 
the  leafy  aisles,  singing,  into  the  clear  blue  sky 
above ;  the  chorus  of  the  negroes  at  work  among 
the  young  cane  floated  in,  mellow  and  resonant, 
from  the  fields.  The  old  mistress  of  La  Glori- 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  91 

euse  saw  it  all  behind  her  drooped  eyelids.  Was 
it  not  April,  too,  that  long -gone,  unforgotten 
morning  ?  And  were  not  the  bees  busy  in  the 
hearts  of  the  roses,  and  the  birds  singing,  when 
Richard  Keith,  the  first  of  the  name  who  came 
to  La  Glorieuse,  held  her  hand  in  his,  and  whis 
pered  his  love-story  yonder  by  the  ragged  thicket 
of  crepe-myrtle  ?  Ah,  Felice,  my  child,  thou  art 
young,  but  I  too  have  had  my  sixteen  years ;  and 
yellow  as  are  the  curls  on  the  head  bent  over 
thine,  those  of  the  first  Richard  were  more  gold 
en  still.  And  the  second  Richard,  he  who — 

Marcelite's  hand  fell  heavily  on  her  mistress's 
shoulder.  Madame  Arnault  opened  her  eyes  and 
sat  up,  grasping  the  arms  of  her  chair.  A  harsh, 
grating  sound  had  fallen  suddenly  into  the  still 
ness,  and  the  shutters  of  one  of  the  upper  win 
dows  of  the  wing  which  overlooked  the  garden 
were  swinging  slowly  outward.  A  ripple  of  laugh 
ter,  musical  and  mocking,  rang  clearly  on  the 
air  ;  at  the  same  moment  a  woman  appeared, 
framed  like  a  portrait  in  the  narrow  casement. 
She  crossed  her  arms  on  the  iron  window -bar 
and  gazed  silently  down  on  the  startled  group 
below.  She  was  strangely  beautiful  and  young, 
though  an  air  of  soft  and  subtle  maturity  per 
vaded  her  graceful  figure.  A  glory  of  yellow  hair 
encircled  her  pale,  oval  face,  and  waved  aivay  in 
fluffy  masses  to  her  waist ;  her  full  lips  were  scar 
let  ;  her  eyes,  beneath  their  straight,  dark  brows, 
were  gray,  with  emerald  shadows  in  their  lumi 
nous  depths.  Her  low-cut  gowrn,  of  some  thin, 
yellowish-white  material,  exposed  her  exquisitely 


92  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

rounded  throat  and  perfect  neck ;  long,  flowing 
sleeves  of  spidery  lace  fell  away  from  her  shapely 
arms,  leaving  them  bare  to  the  shoulder ;  loose 
strings  of  pearls  were  wound  around  her  small 
wrists,  and  about  her  throat  was  clasped  a  strand 
of  blood-red  coral,  from  which  hung  to  the  hol 
low  of  her  bosom  a  single  translucent  drop  of 
amber.  A  smile  at  once  daring  and  derisive  part 
ed  her  lips ;  an  elusive  light  came  and  went  in 
her  eyes. 

Keith  had  started  impatiently  from  his  seat  at 
the  unwelcome  interruption.  He  stood  regarding 
the  intruder  with  mute,  half-frowning  inquiry. 

Felice  turned  a  bewildered  face  to  her  grand 
mother.  "Who  is  it,  Mere?"  she  whispered. 
"  Did — did  you  give  her  leave  ?" 

Madame  Arnault  had  sunk  back  in  her  chair. 
Her  hands  trembled  convulsively  still,  and  the 
lace  on  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  the  hurried 
beating  of  her  heart.  But  she  spoke  in  her  or 
dinary  measured,  almost  formal  tones,  as  she  put 
out  a  hand  and  drew  the  girl  to  her  side.  "I  do 
not  know,  my  child.  Perhaps  Suzette  Beauvais 
has  come  over  with  her  guests  from  Grandchamp. 
I  thought  I  heard  but  now  the  sound  of  boats  on 
the  bayou.  Suzette  is  ever  ready  with  her  pranks. 
Or  perhaps — 

She  stopped  abruptly.  The  stranger  was  draw 
ing  the  batten  blinds  together.  Her  ivory-white 
arms  gleamed  in  the  sun.  For  a  moment  they 
could  see  her  face  shining  like  a  star  against  the 
dusky  glooms  within ;  then  the  bolt  was  shot 
sharply  to  its  place. 


SHE  FLUSHED  AND  HER  BROWN  KYKS  DROOPED 


AT   LA    GLORIEUSE  9d 

Old  Marcelite  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as 
she  disappeared.  A  smothered  ejaculation  had 
escaped  her  lips,  under  the  girl's  intent  gaze  ; 
an  ashen  gray  had  overspread  her  dark  face. 
"Mam'selle  Suzette,  she  been  an'  dress  up  one 
o'  her  young  ladies  jes  fer  er  trick/'  she  said, 
slowly,  wiping  the  great  drops  of  perspiration 
from  her  wrinkled  forehead. 

"  Suzette  ?"  echoed  Felice,  incredulously, 
"  She  would  never  dare  !  AVho  can  it  be  ?" 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  find  out,"  laughed  Keith. 
'"'  Let  us  go  and  see  for  ourselves  who  is  masquer 
ading  in  my  quarters." 

He  drew  her  with  him  as  he  spoke  along  the 
winding  violet-bordered  walks  which  led  to  the 
house.  She  looked  anxiously  back  over  her  shoul 
der  at  her  grandmother.  Madame  Arnault  half 
arose,  and  made  an  imperious  gesture  of  dissent ; 
but  Marcelite  forced  her  gently  into  her  seat, 
and,  leaning  forward,  whispered  a  few  words  rap 
idly  in  her  ear. 

"Thou  art  right,  Marcelite/' she  acquiesced, 
with  a  heavy  sigh.  "  'Tis  better  so." 

They  spoke  in  negre,  that  mysterious  patois 
which  is  so  uncouth  in  itself,  so  soft  and  caress 
ing  on  the  lips  of  women.  Madame  Arnault 
signed  to  the  girl  to  go  on.  She  shivered  a  lit 
tle,  watching  their  retreating  figures.  The  old 
bonne  threw  a  light  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
and  crouched  affectionately  at  her  feet.  The  mur 
mur  of  their  voices  as  they  talked  long  and  ear 
nestly  together  hardly  reached  beyond  the  shadows 
of  the  wild-peach  tree  beneath  which  they  sat. 


94  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

"  How  beautiful  she  was  !"  Felice  said,  mus 
ingly,  as  they  approached  the  latticed  passage 
way. 

"Well,  yes," her  companion  returned,  careless 
ly.  "I  confess  I  do  not  greatly  fancy  that  style 
of  beauty  myself."  And  he  glanced  significant 
ly  down  at  her  own  floAver-like  face. 

She  flushed,  and  her  brown  eyes  drooped,  but 
a  bright  little  smile  played  about  her  sensitive 
mouth.  "I  cannot  see,"  she  declared,  "how  Su- 
zette  could  have  dared  to  take  her  friends  into 
the  bail-room  !" 

"  Why  ?"  he  asked,  smiling  at  her  vehemence. 

She  stopped  short  in  her  surprise.  "Do  you 
not  know,  then  ?"  She  sank  her  voice  to  a  whis 
per.  "  The  ball-room  has  never  been  opened  since 
the  night  my  mother  died.  I  was  but  a  baby 
then,  though  sometim.es  I  imagine  that  I  remem 
ber  it  all.  There  was  a  grand  ball  there  that 
night.  La  G-lorieuse  was  full  of  guests,  and 
everybody  from  all  the  plantations  around  was 
here.  Mere  has  never  told  me  how  it  was,  nor 
Marcelite  ;  but  the  other  servants  used  to  talk 
to  me  about  my  beautiful  young  mother,  and  tell 
me  how  she  died  suddenly  in  her  ball  dress, 
while  the  ball  was  going  on.  My  father  had  the 
whole  wing  closed  at  once,  and  no  one  was  ever 
allowed  to  enter  it.  I  used  to  be  afraid  to  play 
in  its  shadow,  and  if  I  did  stray  anywhere  near 
it,  my  father  would  always  call  me  away.  Her 
death  must  have  broken  his  heart.  He  rarely 
spoke ;  I  never  saw  him  smile  ;  and  his  eyes  were 
so  sad  that  I  could  weep  now  at  remembering 


AT  LA  GLOEIEUSE  95 

them.  Then  he  too  died  while  I  was  still  a 
little  girl,  and  now  I  have  no  one  in  the  world 
but  dear  old  Mere."  Her  voice  trembled  a  lit 
tle,  but  she  flushed,  and  smiled  again  beneath 
his  meaning  look.  "It  was  many  years  before 
even  the  lower  floor  was  reopened,  and  I  am 
almost  sure  that  yours  is  the  only  room  there 
which  has  ever  been  used." 

They  stepped,  as  she  concluded,  into  the  hall. 

"I  have  never  been  in  here  before,"  she  said, 
looking  about  her  with  shy  curiosity.  A  flood 
of  sunlight  poured  through  the  wide  arched  win 
dow  at  the  foot  of  the  stair.  The  door  of  the 
room  nearest  the  entrance  stood  open;  the  others, 
ranging  along  the  narrow  hall,  were  all  closed. 

"This  is  my  room,"  he  said,  nodding  towards 
the  open  door. 

She  turned  her  head  quickly  away,  with  an 
impulse  of  girlish  modesty,  and  ran  lightly  up 
the  stair.  He  glanced  downward  as  he  fol 
lowed,  and  paused,  surprised  to  see  the  flutter  of 
white  garments  in  a  shaded  corner  of  his  room. 
Looking  more  closely,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  glim 
mer  of  light  from  an  open  window  on  the  dark, 
polished  floor. 

The  upper  hall  was  filled  with  sombre  shad 
ows  ;  the  motionless  air  was  heavy  with  a  musky, 
choking  odor.  In  the  dimness  a  few  tattered 
hangings  were  visible  on  the  walls  ;  a  rope,  with 
bits  of  crumbling  evergreen  clinging  to  it,  trailed 
from  above  one  of  the  low  windows.  The  pan 
elled  double  door  of  the  ball-room  was  shut ;  no 
sound  came  from  behind  it. 


96  AT   LA   GLORIEUSE 

"  The  girls  have  seen  us  coming,"  said  Felice, 
picking  her  way  daintily  across  the  dust-covered 
floor,  "and  they  have  hidden  themselves  in 
side." 

Keith  pushed  open  the  heavy  valves,  which 
creaked  noisily  on  their  rusty  hinges.  The  gloom 
within  was  murkier  still ;  the  chill  dampness, 
with  its  smell  of  mildew  and  mould,  was  like 
that  of  a  funeral  vault. 

The  large,  low-ceilinged  room  ran  the  entire 
length  of  the  house.  A  raised  dais,  whose  faded 
carpet  had  half  rotted  away,  occupied  an  alcove 
at  one  end ;  upon  it  four  or  five  wooden  stools 
were  placed ;  one  of  these  was  overturned  ;  on  an 
other  a  violin  in  its  baggy  green-baize  cover  was 
lying.  Straight  high-backed  chairs  were  pushed 
against  the  walls  on  either  side  ;  in  front  of  an 
open  fireplace  with  a  low  wooden  mantel  two 
small  cushioned  divans  were  drawn  up,  with  a 
claw-footed  table  between  them.  A  silver  salver 
filled  with  tall  glasses  was  set  carelessly  on  one 
edge  of  the  table  ;  a  half  -  open  fan  of  sandal- 
wood  lay  beside  it ;  a  man's  glove  had  fallen  on 
the  hearth  just  within  the  tarnished  brass  fen 
der.  Cobwebs  depended  from  the  ceiling,  and 
hung  in  loose  threads  from  the  mantel ;  dust  was 
upon  everything,  thick  and  motionless  ;  a  single 
ghostly  ray  of  light  that  filtered  in  through  a 
crevice  in  one  of  the  shutters  was  weighted  with 
gray,  lustreless  motes.  The  room  was  empty  and 
silent.  The  visitors,  who  had  come  so  stealth 
ily,  had  as  stealthily  departed,  leaving  no  trace 
behind  them. 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  97 

"  They  have  played  us  a  pretty  trick/'  said 
Keith,  gayly.  "  They  must  have  fled  as  soon 
as  they  saw  us  start  towards  the  house."  He 
went  over  to  the  window  from  which  the  girl  had 
looked  down  into  the  rose  garden,  and  gave  it  a 
shake.  The  dust  flew  up  in  a  suffocating  cloud, 
and  the  spiked  nails  which  secured  the  upper 
sash  rattled  in  their  places. 

"That  is  like  Suzette  Beauvais,"  Felice  re 
plied,  absently.  She  was  not  thinking  of  Suzette. 
She  had  forgotten  even  the  stranger,  whose  dis 
dainful  eyes,  fixed  upon  herself,  had  moved  her 
sweet  nature  to  something  like  a  rebellious  an 
ger.  Her  thoughts  were  on  the  beautiful  young 
mother  of  alien  race,  whose  name,  for  some  rea 
son,  she  was  forbidden  to  speak.  She  saw  her 
glide,  gracious  and  smiling,  along  the  smooth 
floor  ;  she  heard  her  voice  above  the  call  and  re 
sponse  of  the  violins  ;  she  breathed  the  perfume 
of  her  laces,  backward  blown  by  the  swift  mo 
tion  of  the  dance  ! 

She  strayed  dreamily  about,  touching  with  an 
almost  reverent  finger  first  one  worm-eaten  ob 
ject  and  then  another,  as  if  by  so  doing  she  could 
make  the  imagined  scene  more  real.  Her  eyes 
were  downcast ;  the  blood  beneath  her  rich  dark 
skin  came  and  went  in  brilliant  flushes  on  her 
cheeks  ;  the  bronze  hair,  piled  in  heavy  coils  on 
her  small,  well -poised  head,  fell  in  loose  rings 
on  her  low  forehead  and  against  her  white  neck ; 
her  soft  gray  gown,  following  the  harmonious 
lines  of  her  slender  figure,  seemed  to  envelop  her 
like  a  twilight  cloud. 


98  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

"  She  is  adorable,"  said  Richard  Keith  to  him 
self. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  been  really 
alone  with  her,  though  this  was  the  third  week  of 
his  stay  in  the  hospitable  old  mansion  where  his 
father  and  his  grandfather  before  him  had  been 
welcome  guests.  Now  that  he  came  to  think  of 
it,  in  that  bundle  of  yellow,  time  -  worn  letters 
from  Felix  Arnault  to  Richard  Keith,  which  he 
had  found  among  his  father's  papers,  was  one 
which  described  at  length  a  ball  in  this  very  ball 
room.  Was  it  in  celebration  of  his  marriage,  or 
of  his  home-coming  after  a  tour  abroad  ?  Rich 
ard  could  not  remember.  But  he  idly  recalled 
portions  of  other  letters,  as  he  stood  with  his 
elbow  on  the  mantel  watching  Felix  Arnault's 
daughter. 

"Your  son  and  my  daughter,"  the  phrase 
which  had  made  him  smile  when  he  read  it  yon 
der  in  his  Maryland  home,  brought  now  a  warm 
glow  to  his  heart.  The  half -spoken  avowal,  the 
question  that  had  trembled  on  his  lips  a  few  mo 
ments  ago  in  the  rose-garden,  stirred  impetuous 
ly  within  him. 

Felice  stepped  down  from  the  dais  where  she 
had  been  standing,  and  came  swiftly  across  the 
room,  as  if  his  unspoken  thought  had  called  her 
to  him.  A  tender  rapture  possessed  him  to  see 
her  thus  drawing  towards  him  ;  he  longed  to 
stretch  out  his  arms  and  fold  her  to  his  breast. 
He  moved,  and  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  a 
small  object  on  the  mantel.  He  picked  it  up. 
It  was  a  ring,  a  band  of  dull,  worn  gold,  with  a 


AT   LA  GLORIEUSE  99 

confused  tracery  graven  upon  it.  He  merely 
glanced  at  it,  slipping  it  mechanically  on  his  fin 
ger.  His  eyes  were  full  upon  hers,  which  were 
suffused  and  shining. 

"Did  you  speak  ?"  she  asked,  timidly.  She 
had  stopped  abruptly,  and  was  looking  at  him 
with  a  hesitating,  half-bewildered  expression. 

"No,"  he  replied.  His  mood  had  changed. 
He  walked  again  to  the  window  and  examined 
the  clumsy  bolt.  "Strange  I"  he  muttered.  "I 
have  never  seen  a  face  like  hers,"  he  sighed, 
dreamily. 

"She  was  very  beautiful,"  Felice  returned, 
quietly.  "  I  think  we  must  be  going,"  she  added. 
"Mere  will  be  growing  impatient."  The  flush 
had  died  out  of  her  cheek,  her  arms  hung  listless 
ly  at  her  side.  She  shuddered  as  she  gave  a  last 
look  around  the  desolate  room.  "They  were 
dancing  here  when  my  mother  died,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

He  preceded  her  slowly  down  the  stair.  The 
remembrance  of  the  woman  began  vaguely  to  stir 
his  senses.  He  had  hardly  remarked  her  then, 
absorbed  as  he  had  been  in  another  idea.  Now 
she  seemed  to  swim  voluptuously  before  his  vi 
sion  ;  her  tantalizing  laugh  rang  in  his  ears  ;  her 
pale,  perfumed  hair  was  blown  across  his  face  ;  he 
felt  its  filmy  strands  upon  his  lips  and  eyelids. 
""Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  turning  eagerly  on 
the  bottom  step,  "that  they  could  have  gone 
into  any  of  these  rooms  ?" 

She  shrank  unaccountably  from  him. 

"Oh  no !"  she  cried.     "They  are  in  the  rose- 


100  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

garden  with  Mere,  or  they  have  gone  around  to 
the  lawn.  Come ;"  and  she  hurried  out  before 
him. 

Madame  Arnault  looked  at  them  sharply  as 
they  came  up  to  where  she  was  sitting.  "No 
one  !"  she  echoed,  in  response  to  Keith's  report. 
"  Then  they  really  have  gone  back  ?" 

' '  Madame  knows  dat  we  has  hear  de  boats  pass 
up  de  bayou  whilse  m'sieu'  an'  mam'selle  was  in 
side/'  interposed  Marcelite,  stooping  to  pick  up 
her  mistress's  cane. 

"I  would  not  have  thought  Suzette  so — so  in 
discreet/'  said  Felice.  There  was  a  note  of  weari 
ness  in  her  voice. 

Madame  Arnault  looked  anxiously  at  her  and 
then  at  Keith.  The  young  man  was  staring  ab 
stractedly  at  the  window,  striving  to  recall  the 
vision  that  had  appeared  there,  and  he  felt,  rather 
than  saw,  his  hostess  start  and  change  color  when 
her  eyes  fell  upon  the  ring  he  was  wearing.  He 
lifted  his  hand  covertly,  and  turned  the  trinket 
around  in  the  light,  but  he  tried  in  vain  to  de 
cipher  the  irregular  characters  traced  upon  it. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  said  the  old  madame.  "  Felice, 
my  child,  thou  art  fatigued." 

Now  when  in  all  her  life  before  was  Felice 
ever  fatigued  ?  Felice,  whose  strong  young  arms 
could  send  a  pirogue  flying  up  the  bayou  for 
miles ;  Felice,  who  was  ever  ready  for  a  tramp 
along  the  rose-hedged  lanes  to  the  swamp  lakes 
when  the  water  -  lilies  were  in  bloom ;  to  the 
sugar-house  in  grinding-time  ;  down  the  levee 
road  to  St.  Joseph's,  the  little  brown  ivy-grown 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  101 

church,  whose    solitary   spire    arose    slim   and 
straight  above  the  encircling  trees. 

Marcelite  gave  an  arm  to  her  mistress,  though, 
in  truth,  she  seemed  to  walk  a  little  unsteadily 
herself.  Felice  followed  with  Keith,  who  was 
silent  and  self-absorbed. 

The  day  passed  slowly,  a  constraint  had  some 
how  fallen  upon  the  little  household.  Madame 
Arnault's  fine  high-bred  old  face  wore  its  custom 
ary  look  of  calm  repose,  but  her  eyes  now  and 
then  sought  her  guest  with  an  expression  which 
he  could  not  have  fathomed  if  he  had  observed 
it.  But  he  saw  nothing.  A  mocking  red  mouth ; 
a  throat  made  for  the  kisses  of  love  ;  white  arms 
strung  with  pearls — these  were  ever  before  him, 
shutting  away  even  the  pure  sweet  face  of  Felice 
Arnault. 

"  Why  did  I  not  look  at  her  more  closely  when 
I  had  the  opportunity,  fool  that  I  was  ?"  he  asked 
himself,  savagely,  again  and  again,  revolving  in 
his  mind  a  dozen  pretexts  for  going  at  once  to 
the  Beauvais  plantation,  a  mile  or  so  up  the 
bayou.  But  he  felt  an  inexplicable  shyness  at 
the  thought  of  putting  any  of  these  plans  into 
action,  and  so  allowed  the  day  to  drift  by.  He 
arose  gladly  when  the  hour  for  retiring  came — 
that  hour  which  he  had  hitherto  postponed  by 
every  means  in  his  power.  He  kissed,  as  usual, 
the  hand  of  his  hostess,  and  held  that  of  Felice  in 
his  for  a  moment ;  but  he  did  not  feel  its  trem 
bling,  or  see  the  timid  trouble  in  her  soft  eyes. 

His  room  in  the  silent  and  deserted  wing  was 
full  of  fantastic  shadows.  He  threw  himself  on 


102  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

a  chair  beside  a  window  without  lighting  his 
lamp.  The  rose-garden  outside  was  steeped  in 
moonlight ;  the  magnolia  bells  gleamed  waxen- 
white  against  their  glossy  green  leaves  ;  the  vines 
on  the  tall  trellises  threw  a  soft  net-work  of  dan 
cing  shadows  on  the  white-shelled  walks  below; 
the  night  air  stealing  about  was  loaded  with  the 
perfume  of  roses  and  sweet-olive  ;  a  mocking 
bird  sang  in  an  orange-tree,  his  mate  respond 
ing  sleepily  from  her  nest  in  the  old  summer- 
house. 

"To-morrow/'  he  murmured,  half  aloud,  "I 
will  go  to  G-randchamp  and  give  her  the  ring  she 
left  in  the  old  ball-room." 

He  looked  at  it  glowing  dully  in  the  moon 
light  ;  suddenly  he  lifted  his  head,  listening. 
Did  a  door  grind  somewhere  near  on  its  hinges  ? 
He  got  up  cautiously  and  looked  out.  It  was 
not  fancy.  She  was  standing  full  in  view  on  the 
small  balcony  of  the  room  next  his  own.  Her 
white  robes  waved  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze ;  the 
pearls  on  her  arms  glistened.  Her  face,  framed 
in  the  pale  gold  of  her  hair,  was  turned  towards 
him  ;  a  smile  curved  her  lips  ;  her  mysterious 
eyes  seemed  to  be  searching  his  through  the 
shadow.  He  drew  back,  confused  and  trembling, 
and  when,  a  second  later,  he  looked  again,  she 
was  gone. 

He  sat  far  into  the  night,  his  brain  whirling, 
his  blood  on  fire.  Who  was  she,  and  what  was 
the  mystery  hidden  in  this  isolated  old  planta 
tion  house  ?  His  thoughts  reverted  to  the  scene 
in  the  rose-garden,  and  he  went  over  and  over  all 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  103 

its  details.  He  remembered  Madame  Arnault's 
agitation  when  the  window  opened  and  the  girl 
appeared  ;  her  evident  discomfiture — of  which  at 
the  time  he  had  taken  no  heed,  but  which  came 
back  to  him  vividly  enough  now — at  his  proposal 
to  visit  the  ball-room  ;  her  startled  recognition  of 
the  ring  on  his  finger;  her  slurring  suggestion 
of  visitors  from  Grandchamp  ;  the  look  of  ter 
ror  on  Marcelite's  face.  What  did  it  all  mean  ? 
Felice,  he  was  sure,  knew  nothing.  But  here,  in 
an  unused  portion  of  the  house,  which  even  the 
members  of  the  family  had  never  visited,  a  young 
and  beautiful  girl  was  shut  up  a  prisoner,  con 
demned  perhaps  to  a  life-long  captivity. 

"  Good  God  !"  He  leaped  to  his  feet  at  the 
thought,  He  would  go  and  thunder  at  Madame 
Arnault's  door,  and  demand  an  explanation. 
But  no ;  not  yet.  He  calmed  himself  with  an 
effort.  By  too  great  haste  he  might  injure  her. 
"  Insane  ?"  He  laughed  aloud  at  the  idea  of  mad 
ness  in  connection  with  that  exquisite  creature. 

It  dawned  upon  him,  as  he  paced  restlessly 
back  and  forth,  that  although  his  father  had  been 
here  more  than  once  in  his  youth  and  manhood, 
he  had  never  heard  him  speak  of  La  Glorieuse 
nor  of  Felix  Arnault,  whose  letters  he  had  read 
after  his  father's  death  a  few  months  ago — those 
old  letters  whose  affectionate  warmth,  indeed,  had 
determined  him,  in  the  first  desolation  of  his  loss, 
to  seek  the  family  which  seemed  to  have  been 
so  bound  to  his  own.  Morose  and  taciturn  as 
his  father  had  been,  surely  he  would  sometimes 
have  spoken  of  his  old  friend  if —  Worn  out  at 


104  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

last  with  conjecture;  beaten  back,  bruised  and 
breathless,  from  an  enigma  which  he  could  not 
solve ;  exhausted  by  listening  with  strained  at 
tention  for  some  movement  in  the  next  room,  he 
threw  himself  on  his  bed,  dressed  as  he  was,  and 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  which  lasted  far  into  the 
forenoon  of  the  next  day. 

When  he  came  out  (walking  like  one  in  a 
dream),  he  found  a  gay  party  assembled  on  the 
lawn  in  front  of  the  house.  Suzette  Beauvais 
and  her  guests,  a  bevy  of  girls,  had  come  from 
Grandchamp.  They  had  been  joined,  as  they 
rowed  down  the  bayou,  by  the  young  people 
from  the  plantation  houses  on  the  way.  Half  a 
dozen  boats,  their  long  paddles  laid  across  the 
seats,  were  added  to  the  home  fleet  at  the  land 
ing.  Their  stalwart  black  rowers  were  basking 
in  the  sun  on  the  levee,  or  lounging  about  the 
quarter.  At  the  moment  of  his  appearance, 
Suzette  herself  was  indignantly  disclaiming  any 
complicity  in  the  jest  of  the  day  before. 

"Myself,  I  was  making  o'ange- flower  con 
serve/'  she  declared;  "an"  anyhow  I  wouldn't 
go  in  that  ball-room  unless  madame  send  me." 

"But  who  was  it,  then  ?"  insisted  Felice. 

Mademoiselle  Beauvais  spread  out  her  fat  lit 
tle  hands  and  lifted  her  shoulders.  "Mo  pas 
connais,"  she  laughed,  dropping  into  patois. 

Madame  Arnault  here  interposed.  It  was 
but  the  foolish  conceit  of  some  teasing  neighbor, 
she  said,  and  not  worth  further  discussion. 
Keith's  blood  boiled  in  his  veins  at  this  calm 
dismissal  of  the  subject,  but  he  gave  no  sign. 


AT  LA  GLOKIEUSE  105 

He  saw  her  glance  warily  at  himself  from  time  to 
time. 

"  I  will  sift  the  matter  to  the  bottom/'  he 
thought,  "and  I  will  force  her  to  confess  the 
truth,  whatever  it  may  be,  before  the  world." 

The  noisy  chatter  and  meaningless  laughter 
around  him  jarred  upon  his  nerves  ;  he  longed 
to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts  ;  and  presently, 
pleading  a  headache — indeed  his  temples  throbbed 
almost  to  bursting,  and  his  eyes  were  hot  and 
dry — he  quitted  the  lawn,  seeing  but  not  noting 
until  long  afterwards,  when  they  smote  his  mem 
ory  like  a  two-edged  knife,  the  pain  in  Felice's 
uplifted  eyes,  and  the  little  sorrowful  quiver  of 
her  mouth.  He  strolled  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  to  his  apartment.  The  blinds  of  the 
arched  window  were  drawn,  and  a  hazy  twilight 
was  diifused  about  the  hall,  though  it  was  mid- 
afternoon  outside.  As  he  entered,  closing  the 
door  behind  him,  the  woman  at  that  moment 
uppermost  in  his  thoughts  came  down  the  dusky 
silence  from  the  farther  end  of  the  hall.  She 
turned  her  inscrutable  eyes  upon  him  in  pass 
ing,  and  flitted  noiselessly  and  with  languid  grace 
up  the  stairway,  the  faint  swish  of  her  gown 
vanishing  with  her.  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
overpowered  by  conflicting  emotions  ;  then  he 
sprang  recklessly  after  her. 

He  pushed  open  the  ball-room  door,  reaching 
his  arms  out  blindly  before  him.  Once  more 
the  great  dust -covered  room  was  empty.  He 
strained  his  eyes  helplessly  into  the  obscurity. 
A  chill  reaction  passed  over  him  ;  he  felt  himself 


106  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

on  the  verge  of  a  swoon.  He  did  not  this  time 
even  try  to  discover  the  secret  door  or  exit  by 
which  she  had  disappeared;  he  looked, with  a 
hopeless  sense  of  discouragement,  at  the  barred 
windows,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  As  he 
did  so,  he  saw  a  handkerchief  lying  on  the  thresh 
old  of  the  door.  He  picked  it  up  eagerly,  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips.  A  peculiar  delicate  per 
fume  which  thrilled  his  senses  lurked  in  its  gos 
samer  folds.  As  he  was  about  thrusting  it  into 
his  breast-pocket,  he  noticed  in  one  corner  a 
small  blood-stain  fresh  and  wet.  He  had  then 
bitten  his  lip  in  his  excitement. 

"I  need  no  further  proof,"  he  said  aloud,  and 
his  own  voice  startled  him,  echoing  down  the 
long  hall.  "  She  is  beyond  all  question  a  pris 
oner  in  this  detached  building,  which  has  mys 
terious  exits  and  entrances.  She  has  been  forced 
to  promise  that  she  will  not  go  outside  of  its 
walls,  or  she  is  afraid  to  do  so.  I  will  bring 
home  this  monstrous  crime.  I  will  release  this 
lovely  young  woman  who  dares  not  speak,  yet  so 
plainly  appeals  to  me/'  Already  he  saw  infancy 
her  star-like  eyes  raised  to  his  in  mute  gratitude, 
her  white  hand  laid  confidingly  on  his  arm. 

The  party  of  visitors  remained  at  La  Glorieuse 
overnight.  The  negro  fiddlers  came  in,  and 
there  was  dancing  in  the  old-fashioned  double 
parlors  and  on  the  moonlit  galleries.  Felice  was 
unnaturally  gay.  Keith  looked  on  gloomily,  tak 
ing  no  part  in  the  amusement. 

"II  est  Hen  bete,  your  yellow-haired  Maryland- 
er,"  whispered  Suzette  Beauvais  to  her  friend. 


IT   WAS   ONLY    FELICE 


AT   LA  GLORIEUSE  107 

He  went  early  to  his  room,  but  he  watched  in 
vain  for  some  sign  from  his  beautiful  neighbor. 
He  grew  sick  with  apprehension.  Had  Madame 
Arnault —  But  no ;  she  would  not  dare.  "  I  will 
wait  one  more  day,"  he  finally  decided;  "and 
then—" 

The  next  morning,  after  a  late  breakfast,  some 
one  proposed  impromptu  charades  and  tableaux. 
Madame  Arnault  good-naturedly  sent  for  the 
keys  to  the  tall  presses  built  into  the  walls,  which 
contained  the  accumulated  trash  and  treasure  of 
several  generations.     Mounted  on  a  step-ladder, 
Robert  Beauvais  explored  the  recesses  and  threw 
down  to  the  laughing  crowd  embroidered  shawls 
and  scarfs  yellow  with  age,  soft  muslins  of  antique 
pattern,  stiff   big -flowered   brocades,  scraps   of 
gauze  ribbon,  gossamer  laces.     On  one  topmost 
shelf  he  came  upon  a  small  wooden  box  inlaid 
with  mother-of-pearl.     Felice  reached  up  for  it, 
and,  moved  by  some  undefined  impulse,  Richard 
came  and  stood  by  her  side  while  she  opened  it. 
A  perfume  which  he  recognized  arose  from  it  as 
she  lifted  a  fold  of  tissue-paper.     Some  strings 
of  Oriental  pearls  of  extraordinary  size,  and  per 
fect  in  shape  and  color,  were  coiled  underneath, 
with  a  coral  necklace,  whose  pendant  of  amber 
had  broken  off  and  rolled  into  a  corner.     With 
them — he  hardly  restrained  an  exclamation,  and 
his  hand  involuntarily  sought  his  breast-pocket 
at  sight  of  the  handkerchief  with  a  drop  of  fresh 
blood  in  one  corner  !     Felice  trembled  without 
knowing  why.     Madame  Arnault,  who  had  just 
entered  the  room,  took  the  box  from  her  quietly, 


108  AT  LA   GLORIEUSE 

and  closed  the  lid  with  a  snap.  The  girl,  accus 
tomed  to  implicit  obedience,  asked  no  questions  ; 
the  others,  engaged  in  turning  over  the  old-time 
finery,  had  paid  no  attention. 

"  Does  she  think  to  disarm  me  by  such  puerile 
tricks  ?"  he  thought,  turning  a  look  of  angry 
warning  on  the  old  madame  ;  and  in  the  steady 
gaze  which  she  fixed  on  him  he  read  a  haughty 
defiance. 

He  forced  himself  to  enter  into  the  sports  of 
the  day,  and  he  walked  down  to  the  boat-landing 
a  little  before  sunset  to  see  the  guests  depart. 
As  the  line  of  boats  swept  away,  the  black  row 
ers  dipping  their  oars  lightly  in  the  placid  waves, 
he  turned,  with  a  sense  of  release,  leaving  Madame 
Arnault  and  Felice  still  at  the  landing,  and  went 
down  the  levee  road  towards  St.  Joseph's.  The 
field  gang,  whose  red,  blue,  and  brown  blouses 
splotched  the  squares  of  cane  with  color,  was  pre 
paring  to  quit  work ;  loud  laughter  and  noisy 
jests  rang  out  on  the  air ;  high- wheeled  planta 
tion  wagons  creaked  along  the  lanes ;  negro  chil 
dren,  with  dip-nets  and  fishing-poles  over  their 
shoulders,  ran  homeward  along  the  levee,  the 
dogs  at  their  heels  barking  joyously;  a  schooner, 
with  white  sail  outspread,  was  stealing  like  a 
fairy  bark  around  a  distant  bend  of  the  bayou ; 
the  silvery  waters  were  turning  to  gold  under  a 
sunset  sky. 

It  was  twilight  when  he  struck  across  the 
plantation,  and  came  around  by  the  edge  of  the 
swamp  to  the  clump  of  trees  in  a  corner  of  the 
home  field  which  he  had  often  remarked  from 


AT  LA   GLORIEUSE  109 

his  window.  As  he  approached,  he  saw  a  woman 
come  out  of  the  dense  shadow,  as  if  intending 
to  meet  him,  and  then  draw  back  again.  His 
heart  throbbed  painfully,  but  he  walked  stead 
ily  forward.  It  was  only  Felice.  Only  Felice! 
She  was  sitting  on  a  flat  tombstone.  The  little 
spot  was  the  Raymonde-Arnault  family  burying- 
ground.  There  were  many  marble  head-stones 
and  shafts,  and  two  broad  low  tombs  side  by  side 
and  a  little  apart  from  the  others.  A  tangle  of 
rose  -  briers  covered  the  sunken  graves,  a^  rank 
growth  of  grass  choked  the  narrow  paths,  the 
little  gate,  interlaced  and  overhung  with  honey 
suckle,  sagged  away  from  its  posts ;  the  fence  it 
self  had  lost  a  picket  here  and  there,  and  weeds 
flaunted  boldly  in  the  gaps.  The  girl  looked 
wan  and  ghostly  in  the  lonely  dusk. 

"  This  is  my  father's  grave,  and  my  mother  is 
here,"  she  said,  abruptly,  as  he  came  up  and 
stood  beside  her.  Her  head  was  drooped  upon 
her  breast,  and  he  saw  that  she  had  been  weep 
ing.  ' '  See,"  she  went  on,  drawing  her  finger 
along  the  mildewed  lettering  :  " '  Felix  Marie-Jo 
seph  Arnault  .  .  .  age  de  trente-quatre  ans/  .  .  . 
'Helene  Pallacier,  epouse  de  Felix  Arnault  .  .  . 
decedee  a  Fage  de  dix-neuf  ans/  Nineteen  years 
old,"  she  repeated,  slowly.  "  My  mother  was  one 
year  younger  than  I  am  when  she  died — my  beau 
tiful  mother  !" 

Her  voice  sounded  like  a  far-away  murmur  in 
his  ears.  He  looked  at  her,  vaguely  conscious 
that  she  was  suffering.  But  he  did  not  speak, 
and  after  a  little  she  got  up  and  went  away.  Her 


110 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 


dress,  which  brushed  him  in  passing,  was  wet 
with  dew.  He  watched  her  slight  figure,  mov 
ing  like  a  spirit  along  the  lane,  until  a  turn  in 
the^hedge  hid  her  from  sight.  Then  he  turned 
again  towards  the  swamp,  and  resumed  his  rest 
less  walk. 

Some  hours  later  'he  crossed  the  rose-garden. 
The  moon  was  under  a  cloud ;  the  trunks  of  the 
crepe-myrtles  were  like  pale  spectres  in  the  un 
certain  light.  The  night  wind  blew  in  chill  and 
moist  from  the  swamp.  The  house  was  dark  and 
quiet,  but  he  heard  the  blind  of  an  upper  win 
dow  turned  stealthily  as  he  stepped  into  the  lat 
ticed  arcade. 

' '  The  old  madame  is  watching  me — and  her," 
he  said  to  himself. 

His  agitation  had  now  become  supreme.     The 
faint  familiar  perfume  that  stole  about  his  room 
filled  him  with  a  kind  of  frenzy.     Was  this  the 
chivalric  devotion  of  which  he  had  so  boasted  ? 
this  the  desire  to  protect  a  young  and  defence 
less  woman  ?     He  no  longer  dared  question  him 
self.     He  seemed  to  feel  her  warm  breath  against 
his  cheeks.     He  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  gesture 
of  despair.    A  sigh  stirred  the  death-like  stillness. 
At  last !     She  was  there,  just  within  his  door 
way;  the  pale  glimmer  of  the  veiled  moon  fell 
upon  her.     Her  trailing  laces  wrapped  her  about 
like  a  silver  mist ;  her  arms  were  folded  across 
her  bosom  ;  her  eyes— he  dared  not  interpret  the 
meaning  which  he  read  in  those  wonderful  eyes. 
She  turned  slowly  and  went  down  the  hall.     He 
followed  her,  reeling  like  a  drunkard.     His  feet 


TIE   THREW    HIMSELF    AGAINST   THE    DOOR 


AT  LA   GLOHIEUSE 


111 


seemed  clogged,  the  blood  ran  thick  in  his  veins, 
a  strange  roaring  was  in  his  ears.  His  hot  eyes 
strained  after  her  as  she  vanished,  just  beyond 
his  touch,  into  the  room  next  his  own.  He 
threw  himself  against  the  closed  door  in  a  trans 
port  of  rage.  It  yielded  suddenly,  as  if  opened 
from  within.  A  full  blaze  of  light  struck  his 
eyes,  blinding  him  for  an  instant ;  then  he  saw 
her.  A  huge  four-posted  bed  with  silken  hang 
ings  occupied  a  recess  in  the  room.  Across  its 
foot  a  low  couch  was  drawn.  She  had  thrown 
herself  there.  Her  head  was  pillowed  on  crim 
son  gold-embroidered  cushions ;  her  diaphanous 
draperies,  billowing  foam-like  over  her,  half  con 
cealed,  half  revealed  her  lovely  form ;  her  hair 
waved  away  from  her  brows,  and  spread  like  a 
shower  of  gold  over  the  cushions.  One  bare  arm 
hung  to  the  floor ;  something  jewel-like  gleamed 
in  the  half -closed  hand  ;  the  other  lay  across  her 
forehead,  and  from  beneath  it  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him.  He  sprang  forward  with  a  cry.  .  .  . 

At  first  he  could  remember  nothing.  The 
windows  were  open;  the  heavy  curtains  which 
shaded  them  moved  lazily  in  the  breeze ;  a  shaft 
of  sunlight  that  came  in  between  them  fell  upon 
the  polished  surface  of  the  marble  mantel.  He 
examined  with  languid  curiosity  some  trifles  that 
stood  there — a  pair  of  Dresden  figures,  a  blue 
Sevres  vase  of  graceful  shape,  a  bronze  clock 
with  gilded  rose  -  wreathed  Cupids;  and  then 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  two  portraits  which  hung 
above.  One  of  these  was  familiar  enough— the 
dark,  melancholy  face  of  Felix  Arnault,  whose 


112  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

portrait  by  different  hands  and  at  different  peri 
ods  of  his  life  hung  in  nearly  every  room  at  La 
Glorieuse.  The  blood  surged  into  his  face  and 
receded  again  at  sight  of  the  other.  Oh,  so 
strangely  like  !  The  yellow  hair,  the  slumber 
ous  eyes,  the  full  throat  clasped  about  with  a  sin 
gle  strand  of  coral.  Yes,  it  was  she  !  He  lifted 
himself  on  his  elbow.  He  was  in  bed.  Surely 
this  was  the  room  into  which  she  had  drawn 
him  with  her  eyes.  Did  he  sink  on  the  thresh 
old,  all  his  senses  swooning  into  delicious  death  ? 
Or  had  he,  indeed,  in  that  last  moment  thrown 
himself  on  his  knees  by  her  couch  ?  He  could 
not  remember,  and  he  sank  back  with  a  sigh. 

Instantly  Madame  Arnault  was  bending  over 
him.  Her  cool  hands  were  on  his  forehead. 
(( Dieu  merci!"  she  exclaimed,  "thou  art  thyself 
once  more,  monfils." 

He  seized  her  hand  imperiously.  ' '  Tell  me, 
madame,"  he  demanded — "tell  me,  for  the  love 
of  God  !  What  is  she  ?  Who  is  she  ?  Why  have 
you  shut  her  away  in  this  deserted  place  ? 
Why—" 

She  was  looking  down  at  him  with  an  expres 
sion  half  of  pity,  half  of  pain. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  faltered,  involuntarily,  all 
his  darker  suspicions  somehow  vanishing;  "but 
—oh,  tell  me  !" 

"  Calm  thyself,  Richard,"  she  said,  soothingly, 
seating  herself  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  strok 
ing  his  hand  gently.  Too  agitated  to  speak,  he 
continued  to  gaze  at  her  with  imploring  eyes. 
"Yes,  yes,  I  will  relate  the  whole  story,"  she 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  113 

added,  hastily,  for  he  was  panting  and  struggling 
for  speech.  "  I  heard  you  fall  last  night/'  she  con 
tinued,  relapsing  for  greater  ease  into  French  ; 
"for  I  was  full  of  anxiety  about  you,  and  I  lin 
gered  long  at  my  window  watching  for  you.  I 
came  at  once  with  Marcelite,  and  found  you  ly 
ing  insensible  across  the  threshold  of  this  room. 
We  lifted  you  to  the  bed,  and  bled  you  after  the 
old  fashion,  and  then  I  gave  you  a  tisane  of  my 
own  making,  which  threw  you  into  a  quiet  sleep. 
I  have  watched  beside  you  until  your  waking. 
Now  you  are  but  a  little  weak  from  fasting  and 
excitement,  and  when  you  have  rested  and  eat- 


"  No,"  he  pleaded  ;  "  now,  at  once  I" 
"Very  well,"  she  said,  simply.  She  was  silent 
a  moment,  as  if  arranging  her  thoughts.  "Your 
grandfather,  a  Eichard  Keith  like  yourself/'  she 
began,  "was  a  college-mate  and  friend  of  my 
brother,  Henri  Raymonde,  and  accompanied  him 
to  La  G-lorieuse  during  one  of  their  vacations. 
I  was  already  betrothed  to  Monsieur  Arnault, 
but  I—  No  matter  !  I  never  saw  Eichard  Keith 
afterwards.  But  years  later  he  sent  your  father, 
who  also  bore  his  name,  to  visit  me  here.  My 
son,  Felix,  was  but  a  year  or  so  younger  than  his 
boy,  and  the  two  lads  became  at  once  warm 
friends.  They  went  abroad,  and  pursued  their 
studies  side  by  side,  like  brothers.  They  came 
home  together,  and  when  Ei chard's  father  died, 
Felix  spent  nearly  a  year  with  him  on  his  Mary 
land  plantation.  They  exchanged,  when  apart, 
almost  daily  letters.  Richard's  marriage,  which 


114  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

occurred  soon  after  they  left  college,  strength 
ened  rather  than  weakened  this  extraordinary 
bond  between  them.  Then  came  on  the  war. 
They  were  in  the  same  command,  and  hardly 
lost  sight  of  each  other  during  their  four  years 
of  service. 

"  When  the  war  was  ended,  your  father  went 
back  to  his  estates.  Felix  turned  his  face  home 
ward,  but  drifted  by  some  strange  chance  down 
to  Florida,  where  he  met  her" — she  glanced  at 
the  portrait  over  the  mantel.  "  Helene  Pallacier 
was  Greek  by  descent,  her  family  having  been 
among  those  brought  over  some  time  during  the 
last  century  as  colonists  to  Florida  from  the 
Greek  islands.  He  married  her,  barely  delaying 
his  marriage  long  enough  to  write  me  that  he 
was  bringing  home  a  bride.  She  was  young, 
hardly  more  than  a  child,  indeed,  and  marvel 
lously  beautiful" — Keith  moved  impatiently ;  he 
found  these  family  details  tedious  and  uninter 
esting —  "  a  radiant,  soulless  creature,  whose  only 
law  was  her  own  selfish  enjoyment,  and  whose 
coming  brought  pain  and  bitterness  to  La  Glori- 
euse.  These  were  her  rooms.  She  chose  them 
because  of  the  rose-garden,  for  she  had  a  sensu 
ous  and  passionate  love  of  nature.  She  used  to 
lie  for  hours  on  the  grass  there,  with  her  arms 
flung  over  her  head,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  flut 
tering  leaves  above  her.  The  pearls — which  she 
always  wore — some  coral  ornaments,  and  a  hand 
ful  of  amber  beads  were  her  only  dower,  but 
her  caprices  were  the  insolent  and  extravagant 
caprices  of  a  queen.  Felix,  who  adored  her,  grat- 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  115 

ified  them  at  whatever  expense  ;  and  I  think  at 
first  she  had  a  careless  sort  of  regard  for  him. 
But  she  hated  the  little  Felice,  whose  coming 
gave  her  the  first  pang  of  physical  pain  she  had 
ever  known.  She  never  offered  the  child  a  ca 
ress.  She  sometimes  looked  at  her  with  a  sup 
pressed  rage  which  filled  me  with  terror  and 
anxiety. 

"  When  Felice  was  a  little  more  than  a  year  old,, 
your  father  came  to  La  Glorieuse  to  pay  us  a 
long-promised  visit.  His  wife  had  died"  some 
months  before,  and  you,  a  child  of  six  or  seven 
years,  were  left  in  charge  of  relatives  in  Mary 
land.  Richard  was  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood, 
broad-shouldered,  tall,  blue -eyed,  and  blond- 
haired,  like  his  father  and  like  you.  From  the 
moment  of  their  first  meeting  Helene  exerted  all 
the  power  of  her  fascination  to  draw  him  to  her. 
Never  had  she  been  so  whimsical,  so  imperious, 
so  bewitching !  Loyal  to  his  friend,  faithful  to 
his  own  high  sense  of  honor,  he  struggled  against 
a  growing  weakness,  and  finally  fled.  I  will  nev 
er  forget  the  night  he  went  away.  A  ball  had 
been  planned  by  Felix  in  honor  of  his  friend. 
The  ball-room  was  decorated  under  his  own 
supervision.  The  house  was  filled  with  guests 
from  adjoining  parishes ;  everybody,  young  and 
old,  came  from  the  plantations  around.  Helene 
was  dazzling  that  night.  The  light  of  triumph 
lit  her  cheeks ;  her  eyes  shone  with  a  softness 
which  I  had  never  seen  in  them  before.  I  watched 
her  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  Richard, 
or  floating  with  him  in  the  dance.  They  were 


116  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

like  a  pair  of  radiant  god -like  visitants  from 
another  world.  My  heart  ached  for  them  in 
spite  of  my  indignation  and  apprehension;  for 
light  whispers  were  beginning  to  circulate,  and  I 
saw  more  than  one  meaning  smile  directed  at 
them.  Felix,  who  was  truth  itself,  was  gayly 
unconscious. 

"  Towards  midnight  I  heard  far  up  the  bayou 
the  shrill  whistle  of  the  little  packet  which  passed 
up  and  down  then,  as  now,  twice  a  week,  and 
presently  she  swung  up  to  our  landing.  Richard 
was  standing  with  Helene  by  the  fireplace.  They 
had  been  talking  for  some  time  in  low,  earnest 
tones.  A  sudden  look  of  determination  came 
into  his  eyes.  I  saw  him  draw  from  his  finger  a 
ring  which  she  had  one  day  playfully  bade  him 
wear,  and  oifer  it  to  her.  His  face  was  white 
and  strained  ;  hers  wore  a  look  which  I  could 
not  fathom.  He  quitted  her  side  abruptly  and 
walked  rapidly  across  the  room,  threading  his 
way  among  the  dancers,  and  disappeared  in  the 
press  about  the  door.  A  few  moments  later  a 
note  was  handed  me.  I  heard  the  boat  steam 
away  from  the  landing  as  I  read  it.  It  was  a 
hurried  line  from  Richard.  He  said  that  he  had 
been  called  away  on  urgent  business,  and  he 
begged  me  to  make  his  adieus  to  Madame  Ar 
nault  and  Felix.  Felix  was  worried  and  per 
plexed  by  the  sudden  departure  of  his  guest. 
Helene  said  not  a  word,  but  very  soon  I  saw 
her  slipping  down  the  stair,  and  I  knew  that  she 
had  gone  to  her  room.  Her  absence  was  not  re 
marked,  for  the  ball  was  at  its  height.  It  was 


AT   LA   GLORIEUSE  117 

almost  daylight  when  the  last  dance  was  con 
cluded,  and  the  guests  who  were  staying  in  the 
house  had  retired  to  their  rooms. 

"Felix,  having  seen  to  the  comfort  of  all, 
went  at  last  to  join  his  wife.  He  burst  into  my 
room  a  second  later,  almost  crazed  with  horror 
and  grief.  I  followed  him  to  this  room.  She 
was  lying  on  a  couch  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  One 
arm  was  thrown  across  her  forehead,  the  other 
hung  to  the  floor,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a 
tiny  silver  bottle  with  a  jewelled  stopper.  A 
handkerchief,  with  a  single  drop  of  blood  upon 
it,  was  lying  on  her  bosom.  A  faint,  curious 
odor  exhaled  from  her  lips  and  hung  about  the 
room,  but  the  poison  had  left  no  other  trace. 

<(~No  one  save  ourselves  and  Marcelite  ever 
knew  the  truth.  She  had  danced  too  much  at 
the  ball  that  night,  and  she  had  died  suddenly 
of  heart-disease.  We  buried  her  out  yonder  in 
the  old  Eaymonde-Arnault  burying-ground.  I 
do  not  know  what  the  letter  contained  which 
Felix  wrote  to  Eichard.  He  never  uttered  his 
name  afterwards.  The  ball-room — the  whole 
wing,  in  truth — was  at  once  closed.  Everything 
was  left  exactly  as  it  was  on  that  fatal  night.  A 
few  years  ago,  the  house  being  unexpectedly  full, 
I  opened  the  room  in  which  you  have  been  stay 
ing,  and  it  has  been  used  from  time  to  time  as  a 
guest-room  since.  My  son  lived  some  years,  pre 
maturely  old,  heart-broken,  and  desolate.  He 
died  with  her  name  on  his  lips." 

Madame  Arnault  stopped. 

A  suffocating  sensation  was  creeping  over  her 


118 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 


listener.  Only  in  the  last  few  moments  had  the 
signification  of  the  story  begun  to  dawn  upon 
him.  "Do  you  mean/'  he  gasped,  "that  the 
girl  whom  I — that  she  is— was— " 

"  Helene,  the  dead  wife  of  Felix  Arnault/'  she 
replied,  gravely.  "  Her  restless  spirit  has  walked 
here  before.  I  have  sometimes  heard  her  tanta 
lizing  laugh  echo  through  the  house,  but  no  one 
had  ever  seen  her  until  you  came— so  like  the 
Richard  Keith  she  loved  \" 

"  When  I  read  your  letter/'  she  went  on,  after 
a  short  silence,  "which  told  me  that  you  wished 
to  come  to  those  friends  to  whom  your  father 
had  been  so  dear,  all  the  past  arose  before  me, 
and  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  forbid  your  coming. 
But  I  remembered  how  Felix  and  Richard  had 
loved  each  other  before  she  came  between  them. 
I  thought  of  the  other  Richard  Keith  whom  I— 
I  loved  once  ;  and  I  dreamed  of  a  union  at  last 
between  the  families.  I  hoped,  Richard,  that  you 
and  Felice— 

But  Richard  was  no  longer  listening.  He 
wished  to  believe  the  whole  fantastic  story  an 
invention  of  the  keen-eyed  old  madame  herself. 
Yet  something  within  him  confessed  to  its  truth. 
A  tumultuous  storm  of  baffled  desire,  of  impo 
tent  anger,  swept  over  him.  The  ring  he  wore 
burned  into  his  flesh.  But  he  had  no  thought 
of  removing  it  — the  ring  which  had  once  be 
longed  to  the  beautiful  golden  -  haired  woman 
who  had  come  back  from  the  grave  to  woo  him 
to  her  ! 

He  turned  his  face  away  and  groaned. 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  119 

Her  eyes  hardened.  She  arose  stiffly.  "I  will 
send  a  servant  with  your  breakfast/'  she  said, 
with  her  hand  on  the  door.  "The  down  boat 
will  pass  La  Glorieuse  this  afternoon.  You  will 
perhaps  wish  to  take  advantage  of  it." 

He  started.  He  had  not  thought  of  going— 
of  leaving  her — her  !  He  looked  at  the  portrait 
on  the  wall  and  laughed  bitterly. 

Madame  Arnault  accompanied  him  with  cere 
monious  politeness  to  the  front  steps  that  after 
noon. 

"Mademoiselle  Felice?"  he  murmured,  in 
quiringly,  glancing  back  at  the  windows  of  the 
sitting-room. 

"  Mademoiselle  Arnault  is  occupied/'  she  cold 
ly  returned.  "I  will  convey  to  her  your  fare 
well." 

He  looked  back  as  the  boat  chugged  away. 
Peaceful  shadows  enwrapped  the  house  and  over 
spread  the  lawn.  A  single  window  in  the  wing 
gleamed  like  a  bale-fire  in  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun. 

The  years  that  followed  were  years  of  restless 
wandering  for  Richard  Keith.  He  visited  his 
estate  but  rarely.  He  went  abroad  and  returned, 
hardly  having  set  foot  to  land  ;  he  buried  himself 
in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Rockies;  he  made  a  long, 
aimless  sea-voyage.  Her  image  accompanied  him 
everywhere.  Between  him  and  all  he  saw  hovered 
her  faultless  face ;  her  red  mouth  smiled  at  him ; 
her  white  arms  enticed  him.  His  own  face  be 
came  worn  and  his  step  listless.  He  grew  silent 
and  gloomy.  "  He  is  madder  than  the  old  colo- 


120  AT  LA  GLORIEUSE 

nel,  his  father,  was,"  his  friends  said,  shrugging 
their  shoulders. 

One  day,  more  than  three  years  after  his  visit 
to  La  Glorieuse,  he  found  himself  on  a  deserted 
part  of  the  Florida  sea-coast.  It  was  late  in  No 
vember,  but  the  sky  was  soft  and  the  air  warm 
and  balmy.  He  bared  his  head  as  he  paced 
moodily  to  and  fro  on  the  silent  beach.  The 
waves  rolled  languidly  to  his  feet  and  receded, 
leaving  scattered  half-wreaths  of  opalescent  foam 
on  the  snowy  sands.  The  wind  that  fanned  his 
face  was  filled  with  the  spicy  odors  of  the  sea. 
Seized  by  a  capricious  impulse,  he  threw  off  his 
clothes  and  dashed  into  the  surf.  The  undu 
lating  billows  closed  around  him;  a  singular  las 
situde  passed  into  his  limbs  as  he  swam  ;  he  felt 
himself  slowly  sinking,  as  if  drawn  downward  by 
an  invisible  hand.  He  opened  his  eyes.  The 
waves  lapped  musically  above  his  head ;  a  tawny 
glory  was  all  about  him,  a  luminous  expanse,  in 
which  he  saw  strangely  formed  creatures  moving, 
darting,  rising,  falling,  coiling,  uncoiling. 

"  You  was  jess  on  de  eedge  er  drowndin',  Mars 
Dick,"  said  AViley,  his  black  body-servant,  spread 
ing  his  own  clothes  on  the  porch  of  the  little  fish 
ing-hut  to  dry.  "lu  de  name  o'  Gawd,  whar 
mek  you  wanter  go  in  swimmin'  dis  time  o'  de 
yea?,  anyhow  ?  Ef  I  hadn'  er  splunge  in  an"  f otch 
you  out,  dey'd  er  been  mo'nin'  yander  at  de  planta 
tion,  sho  I" 

His  master  laughed  lazily.  "You  are  right, 
Wiley,"  he  said  ;  "and  you  are  going  to  smoke 
the  best  tobacco  in  Maryland  as  long  as  you 


MEK  YOU  WANTER  GO   IN   SWIMMIN*  ?' " 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  121 

live."  He  felt  buoyant.  Youth  and  elasticity 
seemed  to  have  come  back  to  him  at  a  bound. 
He  stretched  himself  on  the  rough  bench,  and 
watched  the  blue  rings  of  smoke  curl  lightly  away 
from  his  cigar.  Gradually  he  was  aware  of  a 
pair  of  wistful  eyes  shining  down  on  him.  His 
heart  leaped.  They  were  the  eyes  of  Felice  Ar 
nault  !  "My  God,  have  I  been  mad  !"  he  mut 
tered.  His  eyes  sought  his  hand.  The  ring, 
from  which  he  had  never  been  parted,  was  gone. 
It  had  been  torn  from  his  finger  in  his  wrestle 
with  the  sea.  "Get  my  traps  together  at  once, 
Wiley,"  he  said.  "  We  are  going  to  La  Glorieuse." 

"Now  you  talk-in',  Mars  Dick,"  assented  Wiley, 
cheerfully. 

It  was  night  when  he  reached  the  city.  First 
of  all,  he  made  inquiries  concerning  the  little 
packet.  He  was  right ;  the  Assumption  would 
leave  the  next  afternoon  at  five  o'clock  for  Bayou 
L'Eperon.  He  went  to  the  same  hotel  at  which 
he  had  stopped  before  when  on  his  way  to  La 
Glorieuse.  The  next  morning,  too  joyous  to 
sleep,  he  rose  early,  and  went  out  into  the  street. 
A  gray,  uncertain  dawn  was  just  struggling  into 
the  sky.  A  few  people  on  their  way  to  market 
or  to  early  mass  were  passing  along  the  narrow 
banquettes;  sleepy-eyed  women  were  unbarring 
the  shutters  of  their  tiny  shops  ;  high-wheeled 
milk-carts  were  rattling  over  the  granite  pave 
ments  ;  in  the  vine-hung  courtyards,  visible  here 
and  there  through  iron  grilles,  parrots  were  scold 
ing  on  their  perches ;  children  pattered  up  and 
down  the  long,  arched  corridors ;  the  prolonged 


122  AT   LA   GLORIEUSE 

cry  of  an  early  clothes-pole  man  echoed,  like  the 
note  of  a  winding  horn,  through  the  close  alleys. 
Keith  sauntered  carelessly  along. 

"  In  so  many  hours,"  he  kept  repeating  to  him 
self,  "I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  La  Glorieuse.  The 
boat  will  swing  into  the  home  landing ;  the  ne 
groes  will  swarm  across  the  gang-plank,  laugh 
ing  and  shouting  ;  Madame  Arnault  and  Felice 
will  come  out  on  the  gallery  and  look,  shading 
their  eyes  with  their  hands.  Oh,  I  know  quite 
well  that  the  old  madame  will  greet  me  coldly  at 
first.  Her  eyes  are  like  steel  when  she  is  angry. 
But  when  she  knows  that  I  am  once  more  a  sane 
man —  And  Felice,  what  if  she —  But  no  !  Fe 
lice  is  not  the  kind  of  woman  who  loves  more 
than  once  ;  and  she  did  love  me,  God  bless  her  ! 
unworthy  as  I  was." 

A  carriage,  driven  rapidly,  passed  him ;  his 
eyes  followed  it  idly,  until  it  turned  far  away 
into  a  side  street.  He  strayed  on  to  the  market, 
where  he  seated  himself  on  a  high  stool  in  L'Ap- 
pel  du  Matin  coffee-stall.  But  a  vague,  teasing 
remembrance  was  beginning  to  stir  in  his  brain. 
The  turbaned  woman  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
carriage  that  had  rolled  past  him  yonder,  where 
had  he  seen  that  dark,  grave,  wrinkled  face,  with 
the  great  hoops  of  gold  against  either  cheek  ? 
Marcelite !  He  left  the  stall  and  retraced  his 
steps,  quickening  his  pace  almost  to  a  run  as  he 
went.  Felice  herself,  then,  might  be  in  the  city. 
He  hurried  to  the  street  into  which  the  carriage 
had  turned,  and  glanced  down  between  the  rows 
of  wide-eaved  cottages  with  green  doors  and 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  123 

batten  shutters.  It  had  stopped  several  squares 
away;  there  seemed  to  be  a  number  of  people 
gathered  about  it.  "  I  will  at  least  satisfy  my 
self/'  he  thought. 

As  he  came  up,  a  bell  in  a  little  cross-crowned 
tower  began  to  ring  slowly.  The  carriage  stood 
in  front  of  a  low  red-brick  house,,  set  directly  on 
the  street ;  a  silent  crowd  pressed  about  the  en 
trance.  There  was  a  hush  within.  He  pushed 
his  way  along  the  banquette  to  the  steps.  A 
young  nun,  in  a  brown  serge  robe,  kept  guard  at 
the  door.  She  wore  a  wreath  of  white  artificial 
roses  above  her  long  coarse  veil.  Something  in 
his  face  appealed  to  her,  and  she  found  a  place 
for  him  in  the  little  convent  chapel. 

Madame  Arnault,  supported  by  Marcelite,  was 
kneeling  in  front  of  the  altar,  which  blazed  with 
candles.  She  had  grown  frightfully  old  and  frail. 
Her  face  was  set,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  with  a 
rigid  stare  on  the  priest  who  was  saying  mass. 
Marcelite's  dark  cheeks  were  streaming  with 
tears.  The  chapel,  which  wore  a  gala  air,  with 
its  lights  and  flowers,  was  filled  with  people.  On 
the  left  of  the  altar,  a  bishop,  in  gorgeous  robes, 
was  sitting,  attended  by  priests  and  acolytes  ;  on 
the  right,  the  wooden  panel  behind  an  iron  grat 
ing  had  been  removed,  and  beyond,  in  the  nun's 
choir,  the  black-robed  sisters  of  the  Carmelite 
order  were  gathered.  Heavy  veils  shrouded  their 
faces  and  fell  to  their  feet,  They  held  in  their 
hands  tall  wax -candles,  whose  yellow  flames 
burned  steadily  in  the  semi-darkness.  Five  or  six 
young  girls  knelt,  motionless  as  statues,  in  their 


124  AT   LA   GLORIEUSE 

midst.  They  also  carried  tapers,  and  their  rapt 
faces  were  turned  towards  the  unseen  altar  with 
in,  of  which  the  outer  one  is  but  the  visible  token. 
Their  eyelids  were  downcast.  Their  white  veils 
were  thrown  back  from  their  calm  foreheads,  and 
floated  like  wings  from  their  shoulders. 

He  felt  no  surprise  when  he  saw  Felice  among 
them.  He  seemed  to  have  foreknown  always  that 
he  should  find  her  thus  on  the  edge  of  another 
and  mysterious  world  into  which  he  could  not 
follow  her. 

Her  skin  had  lost  a  little  of  its  warm,  rich  tint ; 
the  soft  rings  of  hair  were  drawn  away  under  her 
veil ;  her  hands  were  thin,  and  as  waxen  as  the 
taper  she  held.  An  unearthly  beauty  glorified 
her  pale  face. 

"Is  it  forever  too  late  ?"  he  asked  himself  in 
agony,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands.  When 
he  looked  again  the  white  veil  on  her  head  had 
been  replaced  by  the  sombre  one  of  the  order. 
"  If  I  could  but  speak  to  her  !"  he  thought ;  "  if 
she  would  but  once  lift  her  eyes  to  mine,  she 
would  come  to  me  even  now  !" 

Felice!  Did  the  name  break  from  his  lips  in 
a  hoarse  cry  that  echoed  through  the  hushed 
chapel,  and  silenced  the  voice  of  the  priest  ?  He 
never  knew.  But  a  faint  color  swept  into  her 
cheeks.  Her  eyelids  trembled.  In  a  flash  the 
rose-garden  at  La  Glorieuse  was  before  him ;  he 
saw  the  turquoise  sky,  and  heard  the  mellow  cho 
rus  of  the  field  gang ;  the  smell  of  damask-roses 
was  in  the  air  ;  her  little  hand  was  in  his  ...  he 
saw  her  coming  swiftly  towards  him  across  the 


AT  LA  GLORIEUSE  125 

dusk  of  the  old  ball-room  ;  her  limpid,  innocent 
eyes  were  smiling  into  his  own  ....  she  was 
standing  on  the  grassy  lawn ;  the  shadows  of  the 
leaves  flickered  over  her  white  gown.  .  .  . 

At  last  the  quivering  eyelids  were  lifted.  She 
turned  her  head  slowly,  and  looked  steadily  at 
him.  He  held  his  breath.  A  cart  rumbled  along 
the  cobble-stones  outside  ;  the  puny  wail  of  a 
child  sounded  across  the  stillness ;  a  handful  of 
rose-leaves  from  a  vase  at  the  foot  of  the  altar 
dropped  on  the  hem  of  Madame  Arnault's  dress. 
It  might  have  been  the  gaze  of  an  angel  in  a 
world  where  there  is  no  marrying  nor  giving  in 
marriage,  so  pure  was  it,  so  passionless,  so  free  of 
anything  like  earthly  desire. 

As  she  turned  her  face  again  towards  the  altar 
the  bell  in  the  tower  above  ceased  tolling  ;  a  tri 
umphant  chorus  leaped  into  the  air,  borne  aloft 
by  joyous  organ  tones.  The  first  rays  of  the 
morning  sun  streamed  in  through  the  small  win 
dows.  Then  light  penetrated  into  the  nun's 
choir,  and  enveloped  like  a  mantle  of  gold  Sister 
Mary  of  the  Cross,  who  in  the  world  had  been 
Felicite  Arnault. 


THE   SOUL   OF   ROSE 


THE  child  pushed  his  way  through  the  tall 
weeds,  which  were  dripping  with  the  midsum 
mer-eve  midnight  dew-melt.  He  was  so  little 
that  the  rough  leaves  met  above  his  head.  He 
wore  a  trailing  white  gown  whose  loose  folds 
tripped  him,  so  that  he  stumbled  and  fell  over  a 
sunken  mound.  But  he  laughed  as  he  scram 
bled  to  his  feet — a  cooing  baby  laugh,  taken  up 
by  the  inward-blowing  G-ulf  wind,  and  carried 
away  to  the  soughing  pines  that  made  a  black 
line  against  the  dim  sky. 

His  progress  was  slow,  for  he  stopped — his  fore 
head  gravely  puckered,  his  finger  in  his  mouth 
—to  listen  to  the  clear  whistle  of  a  mocking 
bird  in  the  live-oak  above  his  head ;  he  watched 
the  heavy  flight  of  a  white  night-moth  from  one 
jimson-weed  trumpet  to  another ;  he  strayed  aside 
to  pick  a  bit  of  shining  punk  from  the  slough 
ing  bark  of  a  rotten  log ;  he  held  this  in  his 
closed  palm  as  he  came  at  last  into  the  open 
space  where  the  others  were. 

"Hola,  'Tit-Pierre  !"  said  Andre,  who  was  half 
reclining  on  a  mildewed  marble  slab,  with  his 


THE   SOUL  OF  ROSE  DEDB  127 

long  black  cloak  floating  loosely  from  his  shoul 
ders,  and  his  hands  clasped  about  his  knees. 
"  Hola  !  Must  thou  needs  be  ever  a-searching  ! 
Have  I  not  told  thee,  little  Hard-Head,  that  she 
hath  long  forgotten  thee  ?" 

His  voice  was  mocking,  but  his  dark  eyes  were 
quizzically  kind. 

The  child's  under-lip  quivered,  and  he  turned 
slowly  about.  But  Pere  Lebas,  sitting  just  across 
the  narrow  footway,  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  his 
curly  head.  "Nay,  go  thy  way,  'Tit  Pierre," 
he  said,  gently ;  "Andre  does  but  tease.  A  moth 
er  hath  never  yet  forgot  her  child." 

"Do  you  indeed  think  he  will  find  her  ?"  asked 
Andre,  arching  his  black  brows  incredulously. 

"  He  will  not  find  her,"  returned  the  priest. 
"Margot  Caillion  was  in  a  far  country  when  I 
saw  her  last,  and  even  then  her  grandchildren 
were  playing  about  her  knees.  But  it  harms  not 
the  child  to  seek  her." 

They  spoke  a  soft  provincial  French,  and  the 
familiar  thou  betokened  an  unwonted  intimacy 
between  the  hollow-cheeked  old  priest  and  his 
companion,  whose  forehead  wore  the  frankness 
of  early  youth. 

"  I  would  the  child  could  talk  !"  cried  the 
young  man,  gayly.  "Then  might  he  tell  us  some 
what  of  the  women  that  ever  come  and  go  in 
yonder  great  house." 

The  priest  shuddered,  crossing  himself,  and 
drew  his  cowl  over  his  face. 

'Tit-Pierre,  his  gown  gathered  in  his  arm,  had 
gone  on  his  way.  Nathan  Pilger,  hunched  up 


128  THE  SOUL   OP   ROSE   DEDE 

on  a  low,  irregular  hummock  against  the  picket- 
fence,  made  a  speaking-trumpet  of  his  two  horny 
hands,  and  pretended  to  hail  him  as  he  passed. 
'Tit-Pierre  nodded  brightly  at  the  old  man,  and 
waved  his  own  chubby  fist. 

The  gate  sagged  a  little  on  its  hinges,  so  that 
he  had  some  difficulty  in  moving  it.  But  he 
squeezed  through  a  narrow  opening,  and  passed 
between  the  prim  flower-beds  to  the  house. 

^  It  was  a  lofty  mansion,  with  vast  wings   on 
either  side,  and  wide  galleries,  which  were  up 
held  by  fluted  columns.     It  faced  the  bay,  and 
a  covered  arcade  ran  from  the  entrance  across 
the   lawn  to  a  gay  little   wooden  kiosk,  which 
hung  on  the  bluff  over  the  water's  edge.    A  flight 
of  stone  steps  led  up  to  the  house.     'Tit-Pierre 
climbed  these   laboriously.      The    great   carved 
doors  were  closed,  but  a  blind  of  one  of  the  long 
French  windows  in  the  west  wing  stood  slightly 
ajar.     'Tit-Pierre  pushed  this  open.     The  bed 
chamber  into  which   he   peered  was   large   and 
luxuriously  furnished.     A  lamp  with  a  crimson 
shade  burned  on  its  claw -footed  gilt  pedestal  in 
a  corner  ;  the  low  light  diffused  a  rosy  radiance 
about  the  room.     The  filmy  curtains  at  the  win- 
-dows  waved  to  and  fro  softly  in  the  June  night 
wind.    The  huge  old-fashioned,  four-posted  bed, 
overhung  by  a  baldachin  of  carved  wood  with 
satin  linings,  occupied  a  deep  alcove.     A  woman 
was  sleeping  there  beneath  the  lace  netting.    The 
snow-white  bed-linen  followed  the  contours   of 
her  rounded  limbs,  giving  her  the  look  of  a  re 
cumbent  marble  statue.     Her  black  hair,  loosed 


THE   SOUL   OF   ROSE   DEDE  129 

from  its  heavy  coil.,  spread  over  the  pillow.  One 
exquisite  bare  arm  lay  across  her  forehead,  part 
ly  concealing  her  face.  Her  measured  breathing 
rose  and  fell  rhythmically  on  the  air.  A  robe  of 
pale  silk  that  hung  across  a  chair,  dainty  lace- 
edged  garments  tossed  carelessly  on  an  antique 
lounge  —  these  seemed  instinct  still  with  the 
nameless,  subtle  grace  of  her  who  had  but  now 
put  them  off. 

On  a  table  by  the  window,  upon  whose  thresh 
old  the  child  stood  atiptoe,  was  set  a  large  crys 
tal  bowl  filled  with  water-lilies.  Their  white 
petals  were  folded;  the  round,  red -lined  green 
leaves  glistened  in  the  lamp -light.  One  long 
bud,  rolled  tightly  in  its  green  and  brown  sheath, 
hung  over  the  fluted  edge  of  the  bowl,  swaying 
gently  on  its  flexible  stem.  'Tit-Pierre  gazed 
at  it  intently,  frowning  a  little,  then  put  out  a 
small  forefinger  and  touched  it.  A  quick  thrill 
ran  along  the  stern  ;  the  bud  moved  lightly  from 
side  to  side  and  burst  suddenly  into  bloom ;  the 
slim  white  petals  quivered  ;  a  tremulous,  sigh 
ing,  whispering  sound  issued  from  the  heart  of 
gold.  The  child  listened,  holding  the  fragrant 
disk  to  his  pink  ear,  and  laughed  softly. 

He  moved  about  the  room,  examining  with  in 
fantile  curiosity  the  costly  objects  scattered  upon 
small  tables  and  ranged  upon  the  low,  many- 
shelved  mantel. 

Presently  he  pushed  a  chair  against  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  climbed  upon  it,  lifted  the  netting, 
and  crept  cautiously  to  the  sleeper's  side.  He 
sat  for  a  moment  regarding  her.  Her  lips  were 


130  THE   SOUL   OF   ROSE   DEDB 

parted  in  a  half -smile;  the  long  lashes  which 
swept  her  cheeks  were  wet,  as  if  a  happy  tear 
had  just  trembled  there.  'Tit-Pierre  laid  his 
hand  on  her  smooth  wrist,  and  touched  timidly 
the  snowy  globes  that  gleamed  beneath  the  open 
work  of  her  night-dress.  She  threw  up  her 
arm,  turning  her  face  full  upon  him,  unclosed 
her  large,  luminous  eyes,  smiled,  and  slept 
again. 

With  a  sigh,  which  seemed  rather  of  resig 
nation  than  of  disappointment,  the  child  crept 
away  and  clambered  again  to  the  floor. 

.  .  .  Outside  the  fog  was  thickening.  The  dark 
waters  of  the  bay  lapped  the  foot  of  the  low 
bluff ;  their  soft,  monotonous  moan  was  rising 
by  imperceptible  degrees  to  a  higher  key.  The 
scrubby  cedars,  leaning  at  all  angles  over  the 
water,  were  shaken  at  intervals  by  heavy  puffs 
of  wind,  which  drove  the  mist  in  white,  ragged 
masses  across  the  shelled  road,  over  the  weedy 
neutral  ground,  and  out  into  the  tops  of  the 
sombre  pines.  The  red  lights  in  a  row  of  sloops 
at  anchor  over  against  Cat  Island  had  dwindled 
to  faintly  glimmering  sparks.  The  watery  flash 
of  the  revolving  light  in  the  light-house  off  the 
point  of  the  island  showed  a  black  wedge-shaped 
cloud  stretching  up  the  seaward  sky. 

Nathan  Pilger  screwed  up  his  eye  and  watched 
the  cloud  critically.  Andre  followed  the  direc 
tion  of  his  gaze  with  idle  interest,  then  turned 
to  look  again  at  the  woman  who  sat  on  a  grassy 
barrow  a  few  paces  beyond  Pere  Lebas. 

"  She  has  never  been  here  before/'  he  said  to 


THE   SOUL  OF  ROSE  DEDE  131 

himself,  his  heart  stirring  curiously.  "  I  would 
I  could  see  her  face  !" 

Her  back  was  towards  the  little  group  ;  her  el 
bow  was  on  her  knee,  her  chin  in  her  hand.  Her 
figure  was  slight  and  girlish  ;  her  white  gown 
gleamed  ghostlike  in  the  wan  light. 

"  Naw,  I  hain't  complaining  nor  nothing"  said 
the  old  sailor,  dropping  the  cloud,  as  it  were,  and 
taking  up  a  broken,  thread  of  talk  ;  "  hows'ever, 
it's  tarnation  wearyin'  a  -  settin'  here  so  studdy 
year  in  an'  year  out.  Leas'ways,"  he  added, 
shifting  his  seat  to  another  part  of  the  low 
mound,  "fer  an  old  sailor  sech  as  I  be." 

"If  one  could  but  quit  his  place  and  move 
about,  like  'Tit-Pierre  yonder,"  said  Andre,  mus 
ingly,  "it  would  not  be  so  bad.  For  myself,  I 
would  not  want — " 

"  The  child  is  free  to  come  and  go  because  his 
soul  is  white.  There  is  no  stain  upon  'Tit-Pierre. 
The  child  hath  not  sinned."  It  was  the  priest 
who  spoke.  His  voice  was  harsh  and  forbidding. 
His  deep-set  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  tall  spire 
of  Our  Lady  of  the .  Gulf,  dimly  outlined  against 
the  sky  beyond  an  intervening  reach  of  cluster 
ing  roofs  and  shaded  gardens. 

Andre  stared  at  him  wonderingly,  and  glanced 
half  furtively  at  the  stranger,  as  if  in  her  pres 
ence,  perchance,  might  be  found  an  explanation 
of  the  speaker's  unwonted  bitterness  of  tone. 
She  had  not  moved.  "  I  would  I  could  see  her 
face!"  he  muttered,  under  his  breath.  "For 
myself,"  he  went  on,  lifting  his  voice,  "I  am 
sure  I  would  not  want  to  wander  far.  I  fain 


132  THE  SOUL  OF  ROSE  DEDE 

would  walk  once  more  on  the  road  along  the 
curve  of  the  bay ;  or  under  the  pines,  where  lit 
tle  white  patches  of  moonlight  fall  between  the 
straight,  tall  tree-trunks.  And  I  would  go  some 
times,  if  I  might,  and  kneel  before  the  altar  of 
Our  Lady  of  the  Gulf." 

Nathan  Pilger  grunted  contemptuously. 
"What  a  lan'lubber  ye  be,  Andry !"  he  said,  his 
strong  nasal  English  contrasting  oddly  with  the 
smooth  foreign  speech  of  the  others.  "What  a 
lan'lubber  ye  be  !  Ye  hain't  no  sailor,  like  your 
father  afore  ye.  Tony  Dewdonny  hed  as  good 
a  pair  o'  sea -legs  as  ever  I  see.  Lord  !  if  there 
waVt  no  difyfc&ulties  in  the  way,  Nathan  Pilger 
'd  ship  fer  some  port  a  leetle  more  furrin  than 
the  shadder  of  Our  Lady  yunder !  Many's  the 
deck  Fve  walked, "he  continued,  his  husky  voice 
growing  more  and  more  animated,  "  an'  many's 
the  vi'ge  Fve  made  to  outlandish  places.  Why, 
you'd  oughter  see  Arkangel,  Andry.  Here's  the 
north  coast  o'  Kooshy"  —he  leaned  over  and 
traced  with  his  forefinger  the  rude  outlines  of  a 
map  on  the  ground  ;  the  wind  lifted  his  long, 
gray  locks  and  tossed  them  over  his  wrinkled 
forehead;  "here's  the  White  Sea;  and  here,  off 
the  mouth  of  the  Dewiny  Eiver,  is  Arkangel. 
The  Eooshan  men  in  that  there  town,  Andry, 
wears  petticoats  like  women  ;  whilse  down  here, 
in  the  South  Pacific,  at  Taheety,  the  folks  don't 
wear  no  clo'es  at  all  to  speak  of  !  You'd  oughter 
see  Taheety,  Andry.  An'  here,  off  Guinea — '' 

"All  those  places  are  fine,  no  doubt,"  inter 
rupted  his  listener,  "Arkangel  and  Tahee^c 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROSE  DEDE  133 

and  G-mia.ee" — his  tongue  tripped  a  little  over 
the  unfamiliar  names  —  "but,  for  myself,  I  do 
not  care  to  see  them.  I  find  it  well  on  the  bay 
shore  here,  where  I  can  see  the  sloops  come  sail 
ing  in  through  the  pass,  with  the  sun  on  their 
white  sails.  And  the  little  boats  that  rock  on 
the  water  !  Do  you  remember,  Silvain,"  he  cried, 
turning  to  the  priest,  "how  we  used  to  steal 
away  before  sunrise  in  my  father's  little  fishing- 
boat,  when  we  were  boys,  and  come  back  at  night 
with  our  backs  blistered  by  the  sun  and  our  arms 
aching,  hein  ?  That  was  before  you  went  away 
to  France  to  study  for  the  priesthood.  Ah,  but 
those  were  good  times  I"  He  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed  joyously.  His  dark  hair,  wet 
with  the  mist,  lay  in  loose  rings  on  his  forehead ; 
his  fine  young  face,  beardless  but  manly,  seemed 
almost  lustrous  in  the  pale  darkness.  "  Do  you 
remember,  Silvain  ?  Eight  where  the  big  house 
stands,  there  was  Jacques  Caillion's  steep-roofed 
cottage,  with  the  garden  in  front  full  of  pinks 
and  mignonette  and  sweet  herbs  ;  and  the  vine- 
hung  porch  where  'Tit-Pierre  used  to  play,  and 
where  Margot  Caillion  used  to  stand  shading  her 
eyes  with  her  arm,  and  looking  out  for  her  man 
to  come  home  from  sea." 

"Jack  Caillion,"  said  Nathan  Pilger,  "was 
washed  overboard  from  the  Suzanne  in  a  storm 
off  Hatteras  in  '11 — him  and  Dune  Cook  and 
Ba'tist'  Roux." 

"The  old  church  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Gulf," 
the  young  man  continued,  "was  just  a  stone's- 
throw  this  side  of  where  the  new  one  was  built ; 


134  THE   SOUL   OF   ROSE   DEDE 

back  a  little  is  our  cottage,  and  your  father's, 
Silvain  ;  and  in  the  hollow  beyond  Justin  Roux 
has  his  blacksmith's  forge." 

He  paused,  his  voice  dying  away  almost  to  a 
whisper.  The  waves  were  beating  more  noisily 
against  the  bluff,  filling  the  silence  with  a  sort 
of  hoarse  plaint ;  the  fog — gray,  soft,  impenetra 
ble — rested  on  them  like  a  cloud.  The  moisture 
fell  in  an  audible  drip-drop  from  the  leaves  and 
the  long,  pendent  moss  of  the  live-oaks.  A  mare, 
with  her  colt  beside  her,  came  trotting  around 
the  bend  of  the  road.  She  approached  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  girl,  reared  violently,  snorting, 
and  dashed  away,  followed  by  the  whinnying 
colt.  The  clatter  of  their  feet  echoed  on  the 
muffled  air.  The  girl,  in  her  white  dress,  sat 
rigidly  motionless,  with  her  face  turned  seaward. 

Andre  lifted  his  head  and  went  on,  dreamily : 
"I  mind  me,  most  of  all,  of  one  day  when  all 
the  girls  and  boys  of  the  village  walked  over  to 
Bayou  Galore  to  gather  water-lilies.  Margot  Gail- 
lion,  with  'Tit-Pierre  in  her  hand,  came  along  to 
mind  the  girls.  You  had  but  just  come  back 
from  France  in  your  priest's  frock,  Silvain.  You 
were  in  the  church  door  when  we  passed,  with 
your  book  in  your  hand."  A  smothered  groan 
escaped  the  priest,  and  he  threw  up  his  arm  as 
if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  "And  you  were  there 
when  we  came  back  at  sunset.  The  smell  of  the 
pines  that  day  was  like  balm.  The  lilies  were 
white  on  the  dark  breast  of  the  winding  bayou. 
Rose  Dede's  arms  were  heaped  so  full  of  lilies 
that  you  could  only  see  her  laughing  black  eyes 


THE   SOUL   OF   ROSE   DEDE  135 

above  them.  But  Lorance  would  only  take  a 
few  buds.  She  said  it  was  a  kind  of  sin  to  take 
them  away  from  the  water  where  they  grew. 
Lorance  was  ever — ' 

The  girl  had  dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
and  was  listening.  At  the  sound  of  her  own 
name  she  turned  her  face  towards  the  speaker. 

"Lorance!"  gasped  Andre.  "Is  it  truly  you, 
Lorance  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  Andre  Dieudonne,"  she  replied, 
quietly.  Her  pale  girlish  face,  with  its  delicate 
outlines,  was  crowned  with  an  aureole  of  bright 
hair,  which  hung  in  two  thick  braids  to  her  waist ; 
her  soft  brown  eyes  were  a  little  sunken,  as  if  she 
had  wept  overmuch.  But  her  voice  was  strange 
ly  cold  and  passionless. 

"  But  .  .  .  Avhen  did  you  .  .  .  come,  Lorance  ?" 
Andre  demanded,  breathlessly. 

"  I  came/'  she  said,  in  the  same  calm,  meas 
ured  tone,  "but  a  little  after  you,  Andre  Dieu- 
donne.  First  'Tit-Pierre,  then  you,  and  then 
myself." 

"Why,  then — "  he  began.  He  rose  abruptly, 
gathering  his  mantle  about  him,  and  leaned 
over  the  marble  slab  where  he  had  been  sitting. 
"  '  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  Andre  Antoine  Marie 
Dieudonne,'  "  he  read,  slowly,  slipping  his  finger 
along  the  mouldy  French  lettering,  "  ( who  died 
at  this  place  August  20th,  1809.  In  the  22d  year 
of  his  age.'  Eighty  years  and  more  ago  I  came  !" 
he  cried.  "And  you  have  been  here  all  these 
years,  Lorance,  and  I  have  not  known !  Why, 
then,  did  you  never  come  up  ?" 


136  THE   SOUL   OF   ROSE   DEDE 

She  did  not  answer  at  once.  "  I  was  tired/' 
she  said,  presently,  "and  I  rested  well  down 
there  in  the  cool,  dark  silence.  And  I  was  not 
lonely  ...  at  first,  for  I  heard  Margot  Caillion 
passing  about,  putting  flowers  above  'Tit-Pierre 
and  you  and  me.  My  mother  and  yours  often 
came  and  wept  with  her  for  us  all— and  my  fa 
ther,  and  your  little  brothers.  The  sound  of 
their  weeping  comforted  me.  Then  .  .  .  after  a 
while  ...  no  one  seemed  to  remember  us  any 
more." 

"Margot  Caillion,"  said  Nathan  Pilger,  "  went 
back,  when  her  man  was  drownded,  to  the  place 
in  Trance  where  she  was  born.  The  others  be 
all  layin'  in  the  old  church-yard  yunder  on  the 
hill  ...  all  but  Silvann  Leebaw  an'  me." 

She  looked  at  the  old  man  and  smiled  gravely. 
"  A  long  time  passed,"  she  went  on,  slowly.  "I 
could  sometimes  hear  you  speak  to  'Tit-Pierre, 
Andre  Dieudonne ;  .  .  .  and  at  last  some  men 
came  and  dug  quite  near  me  ;  and  as  they  pushed 
their  spades  through  the  moist  turf  they  talked 
about  the  good  Pere  Lebas ;  and  then  I  knew  that 
Silvain  was  coming."  The  priest's  head  fell  upon 
his  breast ;  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and 
rocked  to  and  fro  on  his  low  seat.  "Not  long 
after,  Nathan  Pilger  came.  Down  there  in  my 
narrow  chamber  I  have  heard  above  me,  year  af 
ter  year,  the  murmur  of  your  voices  on  St.  John's 
eve,  and  ever  the  feet  of  'Tit-Pierre,  as  he  goes 
back  and  forth  seeking  his  mother.  But  I  cared 
not  to  leave  my  place.  For  why  should  I  wish 
to  look  upon  your  face,  Andre  Dieudonne,  and 


SOUL  OF  HOSE   D&DE  137 

mark  there  the  memory  of  your  love  for  Eose 
D6de  ?" 

Her  voice  shook  with  a  sudden  passion  as  she 
uttered  the  last  words.  The  hands  lying  in  her 
lap  were  twisted  together  convulsively ;  a  flush 
leaped  into  her  pale  cheeks. 

"Rose Dede  !"  echoed  Andre,  amazedly.  "Nay, 
Lorance,  but  I  never  loved  Rose  Dede !  If  she 
perchance  cared  for  me — " 

"  Silence,  fool !"  cried  the  priest,  sternly.  He 
had  thrown  back  his  cowl ;  his  eyes  glowed  like 
coals  in  his  white  face ;  he  lifted  his  hand  men 
acingly.  "  Thou  wert  ever  a  vain  puppet,  An 
dre  Dieudonne.  It  was  not  for  such  as  thou 
that  Rose  Dede  sinned  away  her  soul !  Was  it 
thou  she  came  at  midnight  to  meet  in  the  lone 
shadows  of  these  very  live-oaks?  Hast  tliou 
ever  worn  the  garments  of  a  priest  ?  .  .  .  They 
shunned  Rose  Dede  in  the  village  .  .  .  but  the 
priest  said  mass  at  the  altar  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Gulf,  .  .  .  and  the  wail  of  the  babe  was  sharp  in 
the  hut  under  the  pines,  .  .  .  and  it  ceased  to 
breathe,  .  .  .  and  the  mother  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall  and  died,  .  .  .  and  my  heart  was  cold  in 
my  breast  as  I  looked  on  the  dead  faces  of  the 
mother  and  the  child.  .  .  .  They  lie  under  the 
pine-trees  by  Bayou  Galere.  But  the  priest  lived 
to  old  age ;  .  .  .  and  when  he  died,  he  durst  not 
sleep  in  consecrated  ground,  but  fain  would  lie 
in  the  shadows  of  the  live  oaks,  where  the  dark 
eyes  of  Rose  Dede  looked  love  into  his." 

His  wild  talk  fell  upon  unheeding  ears.  'Tit- 
Pierre  had  come  out  of  the  house.  He  was  nest- 


138  THE    SOUL   OF   ROSE   DEDE 

ling  against  Nathan  Pilger's  knee.  He  held  a 
lily-bud  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  he  ca 
ressed  the  sailor's  weather-beaten  cheek. 

"'Tit-Pierre,"  whispered  the  old  man,  '/that 
is  Lorance  Baudrot.  Do  you  remember  her, 
'Tit-Pierre  ?"  The  child  smiled  intelligently. 
"  Lorance  was  but  a  slip  of  a  girl  when  I  come 
down  here  from  Cape  Cod  —  cabin-boy  aboard 
the  Mary  Ann.  She  was  the  pretties'  lass  on 
all  the  bay  shore.  An'  I  —  I  loved  her,  'Tit- 
Pierre.  But  I  wa'n't  no  match  agin  Andry  Dew- 
donny ;  an'  I  know'd  it  from  the  fust.  Andry 
was  the  likelies'  lad  hereabout,  an'  the  harn- 
somes'.  I  see  that  Lorance  loved  him.  An' 
when  the  yaller-f  ever  took  him,  I  see  her  a-droop- 
in'  an'  a-droopin'  tell  she  died,  an'  she  never  even 
know'd  I  loved  her.  Her  an'  Andry  was  laid 
here  young,  'Tit  -  Pierre,  'longside  o'  you.  I 
lived  ter  be  pretty  tollable  old ;  but  when  I  hed 
made  my  last  v'ige,  an'  was  about  f etchin'  my  las' 
breath,  I  give  orders  ter  be  laid  in  this  here  old 
buryin'-groun'  some'er's  clost  ter  the  grave  o' 
Lorance  Baudrot." 

His  voice  was  overborne  by  Andre's  exultant 
tones.  "Lorance!"  he  cried,  "did  you  indeed 
love  me  ? — me  /" 

Her  dark  eyes  met  his  frankly,  and  she  smiled. 

"Ah,  if  I  had  only  known!"  he  sighed — if  I 
had  only  known,  Lorance,  I  would  surely  have 
lived  !  We  Avould  have  walked  one  morning  to 
Our  Lady  of  the  Gulf,  with  all  the  village-folk 
about  us,  and  Silvain — the  good  Pere  Lebas — 
would  have  joined  our  hands.  .  .  .  My  father 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROSE  DEDE  139 

would  have  given  us  a  little  plot  of  ground ;  .  .  . 
you  would  have  planted  flowers  about  the  door 
of  our  cottage;  .  .  .  our  children  would  have 
played  in  the  sand  under  the  bluff.  .  .  ." 

A  sudden  gust  of  wind  blew  the  fog  aside,  and 
a  zigzag  of  flame  tore  the  wedge-shaped  cloud  in 
two.  A  greenish  light  played  for  an  instant  over 
the  weed-grown  spot.  The  mocking-bird,  long 
silent  in  the  heart  of  the  live-oak,  began  to  sing. 

"All  these  years  you  have  been  near  me,"  he 
murmured,  reproachfully,  "  and  I  did  not  know." 
Then,  as  if  struck  by  a  breathless  thought,  he 
stretched  out  his  arms  imploringly.  "I  love 
you,  Lorance,"  he  said.  "I  have  always  loved 
you.  Will  you  not  be  my  wife  now  ?  Silvain 
will  say  the  words,  and  'Tit- Pierre,  who  can  go 
back  and  forth,  will  put  this  ring,  which  was  my 
mother's,  upon  your  finger,  and  he  will  bring  me 
a  curl  of  your  soft  hair  to  twist  about  mine.  I 
cannot  come  to  you,  Lorance ;  I  cannot  even 
touch  your  hand.  But  when  I  go  down  into  my 
dark  place  I  can  be  content  dreaming  of  you. 
And  on  the  blessed  St.  John's  eves  I  will  know 
you  are  mine,  as  you  sit  there  in  your  white 
gown." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  Pere  Lebas,  with  his 
head  upon  his  breast,  began  murmuring,  as  if 
mechanically,  the  words  which  preface  the  holy 
sacrament  of  marriage.  His  voice  faltered,  he 
raised  his  head,  and  a  cry  of  wonder  burst  from 
his  lips.  For  Andre  had  moved  away  from  the 
mouldy  gravestone  and  stood  just  in  front  of 
him.  Lorance,  as  if  upborne  on  invisible  wings, 


140  THE   SOUL  OF  HOSE   DEDE 

was  floating  lightly  across  the  intervening  space. 
Her  shroud  enveloped  her  like  a  cloud,  her  arms 
were  extended,  her  lips  were  parted  in  a  rapt 
smile.  Nathan  Pilger,  with  'Tit-Pierre  in  his 
arms,  had  limped  forward.  He  halted  beside 
Andre,  and  as  the  young  man  folded  the  girl  to 
his  breast,  the  child  reached  over  and  laid  an 
open  lily  on  her  down-drooped  head. 

The  priest  stared  wildly  at  them,  and  strug 
gled  to  rise,  but  could  not.  As  he  sank  panting 
back  upon  the  crumbling  tomb,  his  anguish  over 
came  him.  "My  God!"  he  groaned  hoarsely, 
"I,  only  I,  cannot  move  from  my  place.  The 
soul  of  Rose  Dede  hangs  like  a  millstone  about  my 
neck!" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  cloud  broke  with  a  roar. 
The  storm  —  black,  heavy,  thunderous  —  came 
rushing  across  the  bay.  It  blotted  out,  in  a 
lightning's  flash,  the  mansion  which  stands  on 
the  site  of  Jacques  Caillion's  hut,  and  the  weed- 
grown,  ancient,  forgotten  graveyard  in  its  shadow. 

.  .  .  And  a  bell  in  the  steeple  of  Our  Lady  of 
the  Gulf  rang  out  the  hour. 


A  MIRACLE 


IT  was  the  Fourteenth  of  July.  Dolly  Lam- 
mitt  came  out  on  the  gallery  and  looked  at  the 
bit  of  tricolor  which  floated  from  a  tall  staff  on 
the  lawn.  The  glories  wreathed  about  the  pil 
lars,  and,  running  along  under  the  wide  eaves, 
made  a  sort  of  frame  for  her  slender  young  figure 
in  its  white  gown. 

Such  glories  !  You  would  never  dream  of  in 
sulting  them  by  placing  before  them  such  limit 
ing  adjectives  as  "morning"  and  "evening." 
For  they  bloom — the  glories  at  San  Antonio — all 
day  and  all  night ;  great  blue  disks  that  sway  in 
the  wind  and  laugh  in  the  sun's  face,  and  call  the 
honey-bees  to  their  hearts  with  an  almost  audible 
murmur. 

The  green  lawn  sloped  imperceptibly  from  the 
one-storied  yellow  adobe  house  to  the  river — the 
opalescent  river  San  Antonio — which  here  made 
one  of  its  unexpected  curves,  and  then  rippled 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  old  Mission  of  San 
Jose,  half  a  mile  below. 

The  yuccas  which  hedged  the  lawn  were  in 
bloom,  their  tall  white-belled  spikes  glistening 


142  A   MIRACLE 

in  the  sunlight ;  a  double  thread  of  scarlet  pop 
pies  marked  the  path  to  the  river  ;  the  jalousied 
porch  which  jutted  from  one  end  of  the  house 
was  covered  by  a  cataract  of  yellowish-pink  roses, 
whose  elusive  "tea"  scent  filled  the  morning  air. 
But  Dolly's  eyes  came  back  from  all  this  blos 
soming  to  dwell  once  more  on  the  glories.  She 
loved  them  ;  she  was  even  proud  of  them,  as,  in 
deed,  she  had  a  right  to  be.  Did  not  her  own 
grandfather — or  was  it  her  grandmother —  But 
wait  a  bit ;  the  story  is  worth  telling. 

It  was  away  back  in  the  early  fifties.  The 
Eclipse  swung  her  way  clear  of  the  overhang 
ing  mustang  grape-vines  on  Buffalo  Bayou,  and 
shoved  her  nose  against  the  muddy  landing  at 
the  foot  of  Main  Street.  The  little  town  of 
Houston  lay  as  if  asleep  in  the  gray  fog  of  early 
morning.  But  at  the  shrill,  prolonged  sound  of 
the  Eclipse's  whistle  everybody,  it  would  seem, 
came  hurrying  down  the  black,  slippery  bluff  to 
watch  the  landing  of  Count  Considerant  and  his 
colonists. 

The  chattering  sallow-faced  strangers  thronged 
the  guards  and  the  upper  deck,  gazing  down  with 
curious  eyes  until  the  gang-plank  —  amid  the 
lusty  whoops  of  the  negro  deck-hands  —  was 
pushed  out ;  then  they  disappeared  within. 

The  crowd  on  the  bluff  and  along  the  single 
straggling  street  had  increased,  and  there  was  a 
faint,  questioning  cheer  when  the  French  emigres 
came  marching  up  the  slope,  keeping  step,  two 
and  two;  men  and  women. 


A  MIHACLE  143 

At  the  head  of  the  column  walked  Monsieur  le 
Comte  himself — a  commanding  figure  in  his  vel 
vet  coat  and  cocked  hat,  with  his  long  hair  float 
ing  over  his  shoulders.  He  carried  a  naked  sword 
in  his  hand.  The  tricolor  of  France,  borne  by 
one  of  his  lieutenants,  waved  above  his  head, 
mingling  its  folds  with  the  stars  and  stripes. 
Madame  la  Comtesse  stepped  daintily  along  be 
side  him.  As  he  set  foot  on  the  soil  of  Texas  he 
lifted  his  sword,  and  the  self-exiled  band  burst 
with  one  voice  into  the  "Marseillaise."  The 
echoes  of  the  unknown  tongue  arose,  piercing, 
powerful,  resonant,  on  the  strange  air,  and  sped 
away  to  die  in  the  silences  of  the  wide  prairies. 

f'Liberte!  Egalite!  Fraternite!"  said  Monsieur 
le  Comte,  bowing  right  and  left  to  the  curious, 
silent,  unresponsive  American  citizens  and  citi- 
zenesses. 

Near  the  tail  end  of  the  procession  walked, 
arm  in  arm,  Achille  Lemaitre  and  Etienne  San- 
terre.  They  fell  a  little  silent  when  the  song 
ceased.  It  was  very  deep,  that  sticky  black  mud, 
and  their  faces  expressed  a  profound  if  momen 
tary  disgust  for  the  free  and  untrammelled  soil 
of  the  New  Paradise.  Both  were  young — mere 
lads,  in  fact.  But  both  "came  from  somebody." 
Achille's  grandmother,  old  Margot  Lemaitre,  had 
spat  in  the  Queen  Marie  Antoinette's  face  as  she 
ascended  the  guillotine  with  her  hands  tied  be 
hind  her ;  and  fitienne  was  the  grandson  of  the 
famous  "tall,  sonorous  Brewer  of  the  Faubourg 
St.-Antoine  "  —  the  formidable  Santerre  of  the 
French  Revolution. 


144  A   MIRACLE 

"One  has  the  head  quite  dizzy  after  all  those 
days  on  shipboard,"  remarked  Achille  presently. 
"  But  behold  us  at  last  in  the  Promised  Land  !" 
He  repeated  between  his  teeth  a  snatch  of  the 
"Marseillaise."  " How  that  was  glorious/' he  ex 
claimed — "  that  time  of  our  grandfathers,  when 
the  blood  spouted  from  the  mouth  of  Mother 
Guillotine  I" 

fitienne  shivered  a  little,  and  Achille  laughed. 
"You  were  ever  a  chicken-heart,  fitienne,"  he 
said,  with  good-natured  contempt,  "and  afraid 
of  the  very  smell  of  blood.  For  myself — " 

£tienne  was  not  listening.  They  had  come  up 
the  bluff,  and  halted  on  its  brow  while  Monsieur 
le  Comte  made  his  little  speech  to  the  Maire. 
There  was  a  brown,  weather-beaten  cottage  on 
their  right ;  the  magnolias  shading  it  were  full 
of  blooms  —  white,  mysterious  cups,  like  those 
whose  petals  had  dropped  all  night  long  on  the 
deck  of  the  Eclipse,  where  the  lads  lay  a-sleeping. 
A  girl  leaned  over  the  low  gate,  staring  with  blue, 
wide-open  eyes  at  the  emigres,  fitienne  gazed  at 
her  like  one  in  a  dream  ;  when  they  moved  on  he 
blushed  and  sighed,  pressing  the  arm  of  his  com 
panion. 

And  when,  a  week  later,  the  Fourierists  started 
on  their  long,  crawling  journey  to  found  their 
phalanstdre  at  Reunion,  Jenny  Lusk,  the  blue- 
eyed  girl,  who  had  in  the  meantime  become  Cit- 
oyenne  Santerre,  accompanied  her  husband. 

Monsieur  le  Comte,  ever  restless,  ever  dream 
ing  lofty  Utopian  dreams  which  never  came  true, 


A   MIRACLE  145 

left  the  phdlanst&re  at  Reunion  before  it  was  fairly 
established.  Achille  Lemaitre,  taking  a  dramatic 
leave  of  Citizen  Santerre  and  his  wife,  followed 
the  Fondateur  to  San  Antonio. 

He  was  very  lonesome — Achille — the  morning 
after  his  arrival  in  the  old  Mexic-American  town. 
He  wandered  about  the  quaint,  river -thridded 
streets,  with  the  sound  of  strange  speech  in  his 
ears,  ready  to  cry,  between  wishing  himself  back 
at  Reunion  with  Etienne  and  thinking  of  his  old 
mother  in  France. 

Suddenly,  at  a  turn  of  the  street — it  was  that 
Flores  Street  where  the  acequia  rushes  limpid  and 
musical  by  the  low  adobe  houses,  and  lithe,  beau 
tiful  women  swing  in  their  hammocks  on  latticed 
balconies — he  met  Dolores  Concha  and  her  wea 
zened,  leather-colored  old  nurse. 

"  But  you  are  much  too  young,"  said  Monsieur 
le  Comte,  frowning,  when,  cap  in  hand,  and  blush 
ing  all  over  his  round  young  face,  Achille  pre 
sented  himself,  a  few  weeks  later,  to  ask  the 
Fondateur 's  permission  to  marry.  tf  You  are 
nothing  but  a  boy." 

"  Pardon,  M'sieu  le  Comte,"  stammered  Achille, 
"  I  am  nearly  twenty.  I  am  the  youngest  of  the  six 
sons  of  my  father.  The  others  all  married  before 
they  were  nineteen ;  and  my  father  himself,  Jean 
Lemaitre — " 

"  Never  mind  Jean  Lemaitre."  The  Count  cut 
him  short,  and  he  promised  the  necessary  papers. 
"Since  the  Senorita  is  an  orphan,  and  has  a  dot" 
he  added.  "  But  I  am  sorry  you  do  not  marry 
an  American.  A  brown-skinned  Mexican — pah  !" 
10 


146  A   MIRACLE 

"  Ah  !  but  when  you  see  Dolores,  M'sieu  le 
Comte  I"  cried  Achille. 

And  M'sieu  le  Comte,  when  he  saw  Dolores, 
admitted  that  it  truly  made  a  difference. 

It  was  to  the  yellow  adobe  house — bought  with 
her  dot — whose  yucca-hedged  garden  sloped  down 
to  the  river's  edge,  that  Achille  took  his  wife  the 
day  after  their  marriage — at  which  Monsieur  le 
Comte  "assisted "in  the  old  Cathedral  on  the 
Plaza. 

A  proprietaire  in  his  own  right !  A  land-own 
er  !  Monsieur  Achille  Lemaitre's  socialistic  the 
ories  vanished  into  the  soft  air  perfumed  by  his 
own  roses.  He  continued  to  sing  the  "Mar 
seillaise,"  and  to  talk  fiercely  about  the  charms 
of  La  M&re  Guillotine  ;  and  he  planted  a  flag-staff 
on  his  lawn,  whence  floated  on  each  successive 
anniversary  of  the  taking  of  the  Bastille  ce  brave 
etendard,  the  tricolor  of  the  republic.  But  he  no 
longer  dreamed  of  sharing  his  worldly  posses 
sions  with  a  Fourierist  phalanst&re.  No  more, 
however,  did  Monsieur  le  Comte  in  his  fine  man 
sion  just  across  the  river. 

One  morning,  some  months  after  Achille  be 
came  husband  and  proprietaire  in  one  day,  he 
came  into  the  room  where  his  young  wife  was  sit 
ting.  His  face  wore  a  pleased  expression ;  his  lips 
parted  in  a  smile  beneath  his  budding  mustache. 

"Soul  of  my  Soul !"  cried  Dolores,  in  the  mixed 
Spanish  and  French  which  they  employed  in  their 
intercourse  with  each  other,  "why,  then,  do  you 
smile  ?" 


A  MIRACLE  147 

"  It  is,  Angel  of  my  Life,"  replied  Achille, 
"that  I  have  planted  a  seed  by  my  front  door 
step." 

"In  the  soft  little  spot  on  the  right,  by  the 
pillar  ?"  demanded  his  wife,  with  lively  interest. 

Achille  nodded. 

"Ah,"  cried  Dolores,  triumphantly,  "I  have 
myself  planted  a  seed  in  that  very  spot  this  morn 
ing." 

Achille  looked  a  little  vexed.  "  But,  my  Soul's 
Love — "  he  began. 

"  It  came  from  Monterey,"  she  continued, 
"  from  a  vine  which  grew  over  my  mother's  door 
way.  I  remember  it  quite  well.  It  has  white 
flowers,  like  little  silver  trumpets,  and  the  smell 
of  them  is  heavenly." 

"  The  seed  I  have  planted,"  said  her  husband, 
"  came  from  a  vine  on  my  grandmother's  balcony 
at  Auteuil.  It  has  big  red  flowers — oh,  red  as 
the  blood  of  Marat  in  his  bath-tub." 

"My  mother's  vine,"  murmured  Madame  Le- 
maitre,  dreamily,  with  her  large  dark  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ceiling,  "has  a  long  slim  leaf  that  glistens 
in  the  sun." 

"  The  vine  of  Margo  Lemaitre,"  remarked  the 
propri'etaire,  looking  out  of  the  window,'  "has  a 
leaf  round  as  a  saucer." 

A  coolness  which  lasted  several  minutes  fol 
lowed  these  reminiscences;  but  it  melted  in  a 
couple  of  kisses. 

Both  planters,  however,  during  the  next  week, 
inspected  frequently  —  and  surreptitiously  —  the 
flower  bed  under  the  edge  of  the  veranda.  They 


148  A  MIKACLE 

surprised  each  other  there  one  morning  before 
the  sun  was  up.  Both  drew  back,  blushing  guilt 
ily  ;  but  both  sprang  forward  again  with  a  cry, 
for  there,  in  very  truth,  was  a  little  vinelet,  with 
trembling,  pale  green  twin  leaves. 

The  leaves  were  heart-shaped. 

"  It  is  the  vine  of  my  mother,"  Dolores  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  I  now  remember  that  the  leaves 
were  like  hearts." 

"  It  is  Margot  Lemaitre's  vine !"  roared  Achille. 
"  I  can  see  the  leaves  with  my  eyes  shut.  They 
were  precisely  of  this  fashion." 

Upon  this  they  quarrelled.  Monsieur  stamped 
his  foot  and  swore,  and  madame  fled  to  her  own 
bedchamber,  where  she  remained  weeping,  and 
refusing  to  come  out  even  to  dinner.  Then  they 
made  up.  But  only  for  a  little  while. 

The  vine  crept  up  and  up,  catching  hold  of  the 
pillar  and  spreading  out  its  heart-shaped  leaves 
and  shaking  them  in  the  wind.  And  Achille  and 
Dolores  watched  it,  and  disputed  over  it,  and  be 
rated  each  other  in  French  and  Spanish,  and  even 
in  very  imperfect  "American." 

"The  flowers  will  be  white,  like  little  silver 
trumpets,"  cried  the  wife. 

f<  The  flowers  will  be  red  as  the  blood  of  Marat 
in  his  bath-tub,"  blustered  the  husband  ;  "and 
if  I  have  a  son  he  shall  receive  under  those  red 
flowers  his  name  of  Maximilien  Robespierre  !" 

"Ay  de  mi!  Santa  Maria  Purissima!" 
wailed  Dolores.  "I  will  not  bear  a  son  to  be 
called  after  a  bloody  monster  !  My  son  shall 
have  the  name  of  the  good  St.  Joseph  !" 


A   MIRACLE 


149 


It  was  a  terrible  time  ! 

But  one  morning  Achille  came  out  of  his  house, 
where  in  the  early  dawn  a  night-light  was  still 
burning.  His  face  was  swollen  with  weeping, 
and  he  staggered  as  he  walked,  like  a  man  in 
liquor. 

He  crossed  the  garden  to  the  little  gate  which 
opened  upon  the  river  steps,  and  stopped,  put 
ting  his  hands  out  blindly  to  grasp  the  railing. 
"  She  will  die  !"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  looking 
around  with  blurred  eyes  which  saw  nothing. 
"Mother  of  God,  she  will  die,  never  knowing 
how  much  I  love  her  !  And  I,  who  have  made 
her  weep,  brute  that  I  am  !  Oh,  if  she  will  only 
live  !  But  she  will  die,  she  will  die  I"  And  he 
shook  the  railing  with  such  fury  that  a  loose 
piece  at  the  end  fell  into  the  river  and  swirled 
around  on  the  dimpling  eddy. 

"  Senor  !"  It  was  the  shrill  voice  of  the  old 
nurse  calling  him  from  the  veranda. 

But  he  durst  not  turn  his  head. 

He  heard  her  come  pattering  down  the  path, 
and  his  knees  became  as  water. 

"Senor,"  said  Marta,  "come  and  see  your 
son." 

His  son!  He  shook  from  head  to  foot,  staring 
at  her  with  dazed  eyes.  "  Dolores  ?"  he  stam 
mered. 

' '  Santa  Maria  I"  said  Marta,  impatiently.  "Do 
you  think  your  wife  is  such  a  fool  that  she  can 
not  bring  a  man-child  into  the  world  without 
dying  ?" 

"I  will  tear  down  that  monster  of  a  vine  be- 


150 


A   MIRACLE 


fore  the  red  flowers  bud  upon  it,"  he  said  within 
himself,  following  her,  and  wiping  the  glad,  fool 
ish  tears  from  his  eyes.  He  glanced  up,  from 
habit,  at  the  subject  of  all  their  childish  quar 
rels. 

He  stopped,  open-mouthed. 

The  vine,  in  one  unheeded  night,  had  burst 
into  bloom.  The  blossoms  of  it  were  not  white, 
like  little  silver  trumpets,  nor  red,  like  the  blood 
of  Marat  in  his  bath-tub.  A  row  of  great  heav 
enly  blue  disks  starred  the  lintel  like  a  crown. 

He  reached  up  and  plucked  one  of  these  mira 
cles,  and  tiptoed  into  the  hushed  and  darkened 
room. 

"  Heart  of  my  Body !"  he  sobbed,  falling  on 
his  knees  by  the  bedside,  "our  vine  has  blos 
somed  I"  and  he  laid  the  glory  on  her  white 
bosom. 

Dolores  smiled  —  an  adorable,  weak,  young- 
mother  smile.  "Life  of  my  Soul  I"  she  said, 
uncovering  the  little  bundle  which  lay  on  her 
arm,  "behold  your  son!  He  shall  be  called 
Maximilien  Kobespierre." 

"But  no!"  said  Achille,  solemnly;  "we  will 
name  our  son  Jesus-Mary." 

Such  was  the  mysterious  origin  of  the  blue 
glories  which  to-day  riot  over  every  house  in 
San  Antonio.  They  may  wish  to  tell  you  a  dif 
ferent  story  down  there,  but  it  would  be  foolish 
to  listen  even,  since  this  is  the  true  one. 

Achille  Lemaitre  was  killed  in  a  charge  at  the 


A   MIRACLE  151 

battle  of  Shiloh,  and  his  wife,  dying  shortly  after 
of  grief  at  his  loss,  left  her  young  son  in  the  care 
of  Monsieur  le  Comte,  his  godfather. 

And  hy  the  time  Jesus  -  Mary  had  reached  the 
age  convenable  for  a  Lemaitre  to  enter  the  holy 
estate  of  matrimony,  and  had  fetched  his  Ameri 
can  wife  to  the  yellow  adobe  house  by  the  river, 
he  had  become,  through  persistent  mispronun 
ciation  and  the  American  fashion  in  initial  let 
ters,  Mr.  J.  M.  Lammitt. 

Dolly,  baptized  Dolores  in  memory  of  her  beau 
tiful  grandmother,  continued  to  look  with  un 
natural  intentness  at  the  glories,  blushing,  but 
pretending  not  to  see  Mr.  Steven  Santer,  who 
had  fastened  his  little  skiff  at  the  landing  and 
was  coming  up  the  poppy-bordered  walk. 

He  took  off  his  straw  hat  as  he  approached. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Lammitt,"  he  said,  bold 
ly,  though  inwardly  quaking  at  his  own  au 
dacity. 

They  sat  down  on  the  steps  together. 

Mr.  Steven  Santer  was  a  good  -  looking  blond 
young  man  from  somewhere  near  the  East  Fork 
of  the  Trinity.  He  had  come  to  San  Antonio 
some  weeks  earlier  on  account  of  business,  and 
stayed  on  account  of  Dolly  Lammitt. 

"What  is  that  ?"  he  asked,  suddenly  starting 
up  from  his  seat,  for  a  puff  of  wind  had  caught 
the  pennant  fastened  to  the  staff  on  the  lawn 
and  unfurled  it. 

"  That,"  replied  Dolly,  "is  a  French  flag.  My 
father  always  puts  it  out  on  the  Fourteenth  of 
July.  The  Fourteenth  of  July/'  she  explained, 


152  A  MIRACLE 

with  condescension,  "is  the  anniversary  of  the 
taking  of  the  Bastille." 

"  I  know/'  said  Santer.  "My  father/'  he  add 
ed,  as  if  apologizing  for  his  own  acquaintance 
with  the  subject — "my  father  always  runs  up  a 
French  flag  on  the  Fourteenth  of  July." 

"My  grandfather/'  said  Dolly,  "came  over 
from  France  with  Count  Considerant  to  the 
phalanstbre  at  Reunion." 

"So  did  my  father!  Why,  they  must  have 
sailed  together  in  the  Nuremberg !" 

"What  an  unheard-of  coincidence  \" 

And  so  Dolly  presently  related  the  history  of 
the  glories,  or  as  much  of  it  as  Jesus-Mary  him 
self  knew.  She  twirled  one  of  the  heavenly  blue 
blossoms  in  her  fingers  while  she  talked  ;  and 
when  she  had  finished  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  to  pluck  another,  but  got  a  splinter  in 
stead,  which  tore  the  delicate  white  flesh  of  her 
thumb. 

She  turned  pale  and  bit  her  lip,  drawing  in 
her  breath,  while  Steven  Santer  wiped  away  the 
blood  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  The  sight  of  blood  always  makes  me  ill,"  she 
murmured,  closing  her  dark  eyes. 

Shade  of  great-great-grandmother  Margot  Le- 
maitre  ! 

And  the  great-grandson  of  Santerre  the  Sono 
rous,  having  thus  strategically  possessed  himself 
of  her  hand,  kept  it  in  his  own. 


AT  THE  COBNEK  OF  ABSINTHE  AND 
ANISETTE 


IT  was  drizzling,  and  the  banquette  was  over 
laid  with  a  black  slush  which  seemed  to  ooze 
from  the  very  paving-stones.  The  girl  standing 
on  the  corner  —  her  slim,  white-gowned  figure 
softly  outlined  against  the  pink  stucco  of  the 
wall  behind  her — appeared  curiously  at  variance 
with  the  November-afternoon  gloom.  The  sin 
gle  passenger  in  a  street-car  crawling  past  glanced 
out  at  her  with  a  momentary  gleam  of  interest. 
"  She  looks  like  a  bayou  lily/7  he  murmured,  re 
turning  to  his  evening  paper. 

There  is  nothing  earthly  which  can  compare, 
for  whiteness,  with  the  bayou  lily  —  hovering 
above  the  dark  marsh  like  a  tethered  soul — pure, 
spotless,  radiant ;  exhaling  an  innocent  perfume, 
its  flexible  stem  rooted  far  below  in  the  slime. 

The  drizzle  became  a  downpour,  and  the  few 
pedestrians  scurried  into  shelter,  leaving  the  nar 
row  street  quite  deserted.  The  girl  drew  a  little 
farther  under  the  high,  projecting  balcony,  with 
its  wrought-iron  balustrade.  Her  white  gown, 
slightly  open  at  the  throat,  as  if  designed  for  in- 


154       AT   THE   CORNER   OF   ABSINTHE   AND   ANISETTE 

doors,  was  drenched  with  the  wind-blown  rain ; 
though,  by  some  miracle,  the  hem  remained  tin- 
smirched  by  the  ooze  beneath  her  feet.  She  was 
very  young.  The  delicate,  almost  child-like  face 
beneath  her  round  hat  was  pale ;  her  violet  eyes 
had  a  strained,  expectant  look.  She  leaned  against 
the  wall  of  the  old  building,  trembling,  as  if  fright 
ened  or  over-fatigued. 

The  heavy  batten  shutters  were  flung  back ; 
their  enormous  bolts  turned  aslant ;  the  inner 
doors,  whose  upper  halves  were  composed  of  fan 
cifully  shaped  panes  of  ground  glass,  were  closed. 

On  the  same  spot — christened  by  some  dead- 
and-gone  wag  The  Corner  of  Absinthe  and  Ani 
sette — stood,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen 
hundred  and  thirteen,  the  self-same  building.  It 
was  even  then  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century 
old,  and  a  conspicuous  landmark  in  its  isolated 
situation ;  a  few  low  habitations  only  clustering 
between  it  and  the  outlying  swamps,  and  but  a 
thin  scattering  of  houses  stretching  down  to  the 
river.  The  steep  roof  of  the  single  squat  story 
was  tiled ;  a  long  arm  thrust  out  from  the  eaves 
held  a  lantern  over  the  muddy,  unpaved  street. 
It  was  a  cabaret  then  as  now ;  and  then,  as  now, 
famous  for  its  " green  hours." 

Its  rough  outer  wall,  one  morning  in  the  au 
tumn  of  that  year,  was  adorned  with  a  large 
printed  poster  which  set  forth,  in  the  three  lan 
guages  then  current  in  the  old  town  on  the 
Mississippi,  the  misdeeds  of  one  Jean  Lafitte, 
smuggler,  marauder,  desperado,  and  pirate,  and 


AT   THE   CORNER   OF   ABSINTHE   AND   ANISETTE       155 

offered,  in  the  name  of  his  Excellency  Governor 
Claiborne,  a  reward  of  five  hundred  dollars  for 
the  capture  of  the  said  Jean  Lafitte  and  his  de 
livery  into  the  hands  of  justice. 

The  laughing  eyes  of  a  knot  of  apparent  idlers 
on  the  wooden  banquette  were  turned  alternately 
from  this  placard  to  the  tall,  handsome  man — no 
less  a  person  than  Jean  Lafitte  himself ! — who 
leaned  against  the  wall,  the  long,  curling  locks 
of  his  hair  blown  against  the  signature  of  his 
(late  Provisional)  Excellency.  But  there  were 
covert  flashes  of  malign  intelligence  in  some  of 
the  laughing  eyes,  and  an  imperceptible  move 
ment  of  the  crowd  towards  the  batten  door  at 
the  outlaw's  right  hand.  His  own  glances,  as  he 
bandied  jests  with  the  leaders,  toying  the  while 
with  the  fringed  end  of  his  green  silk  sash,  went 
warily  about.  He  knew  himself  to  be  in  danger 
of  arrest ;  he  might,  indeed,  pay  with  his  life  for 
his  seeming  bravado.  But  he  was  not  thinking  of 
himself.  His  ear  was  strained  to  catch  the  slight 
est  sound  within  the  cabaret,  where  Henri  Des- 
trehan  was  blithely  quaffing  his  glass  of  absinthe, 
unaware  that  his  enemies,  sworn  to  butcher  him 
like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  were  closing  upon  him. 

It  was  the  knowledge  of  his  friend's  impend 
ing  peril  which  had  drawn  the  pirate  chief  from 
his  lagoon  fastnesses. 

"How  about  that  last  bale  of  smuggled  silk 
brocade,  Lafitte  ?"  demanded  a  brawny,  dark- 
browed  man,  lightly,  edging  nearer  to  the  wall 
as  he  spoke. 

"  Sold  at  ten  dollars  the  yard  for  the  waist- 


156       AT   THE  CORNER  OP  ABSINTHE  AND  ANISETTE 

coats  of  his  Excellency,  the  Governor  \"  returned 
Lafitte,  in  the  same  tone. 

"  And  the  gold  chain  captured  on  the  high  seas 
from  His  Grace,  the  Mexican  Bishop  ?"  laughed 
another. 

"  Sold  off  in  inches  for  the  repose  of  his  Grace's 
soul." 

He  had  dropped  the  end  of  his  sash.  His  hand, 
as  he  spoke,  was  on  the  door.  "A  moi,  Destre- 
luin,  d  moi!"  he  cried,  bursting  into  the  dimly 
lighted  cabaret.  And,  catching  the  bewildered 
young  officer  into  the  sweep  of  his  powerful  arm, 
he  lifted  him  from  the  floor,  bore  him  through 
the  very  midst  of  his  enemies,  turned  the  cor 
ner  with  the  leaping  speed  of  a  stag,  and  disap 
peared  behind  a  clump  of  cabins  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  swamp.  A  howl  of  rage  and  a  vol 
ley  of  shot  from  the  baffled  plotters  followed 
the  fugitives,  but  they  were  already  safe  from 
pursuit. 

A  few  days  later  Destrehan  was  about  starting 
on  his  roundabout  journey  to  France.  A  pi 
rogue,  dancing  on  the  breast  of  the  sinuous 
bayou  which  led  away  from  the  outlaw's  strong 
hold  at  Barrataria,  awaited  him  with  its  lithe, 
dark-skinned  paddler.  "  If  ever  a  Destrehan" 
— these  were  his  parting  words  to  Lafitte,  with  a 
warm  hand-clasp — "  if  ever  a  Destrehan  fails  a 
Lafitte  in  the  hour  of  need,  may  his  soul  die  and 
his  bones  rot  unburied." 

Leonie  Destran,  apparently  unconscious  of  the 
rain,  which  continued  to  fall,  was  waiting  still. 


AT  THE   CORNER  OF  ABSINTHE   AND  ANISETTE       157 

The  pallor  of  her  delicate  face  had  increased. 
She  moved  nearer  to  the  closed  door  of  the 
cabaret. 

Within  there  was  a  drowsy  silence.  The  fat, 
bald-headed  proprietor  was  nodding  over  an  out 
worn  copy  of  La  Mouclie. 

It  was  midway  between  les  lieurs  vertes — early 
and  late — of  the  staid  and  respectable  habitues 
who  came  with  the  regularity  of  unimpeachable 
clocks  every  day  at  noon,  and  every  day  before 
setting  towards  their  late  dinners. 

The  floor  had  been  re-sanded  since  noon  and 
swept  into  fresh  geometrical  figures,  and  the  old- 
fashioned  wooden  bar  with  its  simple  fixtures 
was  in  readiness  for  the  six  o'clock  clientele. 

There  was,  however,  a  single  patron,  who  stood 
with  his  left  hand  resting  lightly  on  the  bar  ;  in 
his  right  hand  he  held  a  small  tumbler ;  the  wan 
light  filtering  in  through  the  ground  glass  of  the 
door  fell  upon  its  cloudy  green  contents,  giving 
them  a  strange,  unearthly  gleam. 

The  man,  who  was  elegantly  and  fashionably 
attired,  was  young  and  extraordinarily  hand 
some,  though  his  face  showed  signs  of  dissipa 
tion,  and  his  dark  eyes  beneath  the  thick  brows 
had  a  bold,  unpleasant  expression. 

He  wore  a  white  flower  in  his  buttonhole. 

He  lifted  the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  set  it  down 
hastily.  Octave  Lafitte !  It  was  a  whisper,  a 
faintly  dying  breath,  but  he  heard  his  own  name 
distinctly  pronounced.  He  looked  at  the  deaf 
old  man  half  asleep  in  his  chair  ;  then  he  stepped 
noiselessly  to  the  door.  The  rain,  striking  him 


158       AT   THE   CORNER   OP   ABSINTHE   AND   ANISETTE 

full  in  the  face  as  he  opened  it,  blurred  his 
vision  for  a  second.  "  Mademoiselle  Destran  ! 
Leonie  !"  he  exclaimed,  starting  back  surprised, 
his  dark  face  flushing  with  pleasure. 

She  lifted  her  hand.  "  Stay,  monsieur/'  she 
said,  speaking  rapidly  and  in  French,  "there  is 
no  time  for  words.  I  was  following  you,  and  I 
saw  you  enter  here.  I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
to  come  out,  but  I  dared  wait  no  longer.  You 
must  leave  this  State — this  country — at  once. 
Stay"— for  he  was  beginning  to  speak— "'Toi- 
nette  Farge,  on  Bayou  Desnoyers,  near  our  plan 
tation,  has  confessed  to  her  father  that  it  is  you" 
—a  wave  of  crimson  dyed  her  face  and  throat, 

but  she   continued   to   look   steadily   at   him 

"that  it  is  you  who  have  disgraced  her  and 
ruined  their  home.  Old  Dominique  Farge  will 
kill  you.  He  has  sworn  to  hunt  you  down  like  a 
dog.  My  father  is  ill  ...  we  fear  he  is  dying 
...  he  could  not  come  himself  to  warn  you  .  .  . 
I  did  not  even  stop  to  change  my  dress  ...  I 
have  been  travelling  all  day."  She  stopped, 
panting  for  breath,  with  her  hand  pressed  to  her 
side. 

His  eyes  were  glowing ;  he  smiled  exultantly. 
"And  you  have  done  this  for  me,  Leonie,  for 
me!"  he  whispered,  tenderly,  moving  towards 
her  with  outstretched  arms.  "  Then  you  do  care 
for  me  !  You  do  love — 

She  drew  away  with  a  gesture  of  loathing. 
"You!  God  forbid!"  she  cried.  "I  do  the 
duty  of  the  Destrehan  to  the  Lafitte,"  she  added, 
calmly.  "But  you  must  go  at  once,  monsieur. 


AT  THE  CORNER  OF  ABSINTHE   AND   ANISETTE       159 

Dominique  Farge  may  reach  the  city  at  any  mo 
ment.  Go,  before  it  is  too  late — " 

It  was  already  too  late.  There  was  a  sound  of 
footsteps  above  the  rush  of  the  rain,  and  Domi 
nique  Farge  came  around  the  corner — a  large 
old  man,  with  a  swart,  bearded  face.  His  blue 
cotton  shirt — he  wore  no  coat — was  open  at  the 
throat,  showing  his  massive  chest ;  and  the  un 
buttoned  sleeves  fell  away  from  his  hairy  wrists. 
His  deep-sunken  eyes  were  bloodshot ;  his  long, 
grizzled  hair,  soaked  and  matted  by  the  rain, 
clung  to  his  cheeks.  At  sight  of  his  prey  his 
face  lighted  horribly.  "  Li  move  nomine !"  he 
hissed,  with  a  forward  spring. 

Lafitte,  with  his  eyes  on  the  uplifted  hand, 
stood  rooted  to  his  place.  But  there  was  a  quick 
movement  on  the  girl's  part. 

She  had  thrown  herself  in  front  of  the  intend 
ed  victim  ;  and  the  alligator  knife  in  Domi 
nique's  hand,  descending,  sheathed  itself  in  her 
bosom. 

Without  a  cry,  and  like  a  bayou  lily  whose 
stem  has  been  suddenly  cut,  the  white  figure 
sank  into  the  ooze  of  the  banquette,  her  spirting 
blood  dyeing  the  stuccoed  wall. 

The  old  man  passed  his  hand  over  his  starting 
eyes.  He  did  not  even  stoop  to  see  if  the  child 
of  his  neighbor  and  old  comrade-in-arms  were 
dead  ;  but  stepping  back  a  pace,  he  drew  a 
revolver  from  his  belt  and  placed  the  muzzle 
against  his  forehead. 

His  body  fell  heavily  at  her  feet. 

The  report  of  the  pistol  brought  a  voluble,  hur- 


160       AT  THE   CORNER  OF  ABSINTHE  AND  ANISETTE 

rying  crowd  into  the  drowned  street,  but  there 

had  been  no  witnesses  of  the  double  tragedy 

which  caused  extraordinary  comment.  So  one 
ever  knew  its  meaning.  'Toinette  Farge,  cower 
ing  over  her  nameless  infant  in  the  cabin  on 
Bayou  Desnoyers ;  Henry  Destran  on  his  death 
bed  in  the  old  Destrehan  plantation-house — even 
these  but  dimly  surmised  the  truth. 

The  deaf  old  cabaret-keeper  came  out  to  watch 
the  removal  of  the  dead  bodies,  leaving  the  little 
room  quite  empty. 

The  untasted  glass  of  absinthe  on  the  bar 
glowed  like  a  huge,  scintillating  opal  in  the 
purple  shadows. 

A  year  later  a  man  drifted  at  nightfall  one 
day — alone — into  a  cheap  pot-house  on  the  out 
skirts  of  Paris.  There  was  an  air  of  decayed 
gentility  about  him.  His  well -fitting  clothes 
were  shabby.  The  lining  of  the  top-coat  he  c^r- 
ried  over  his  arm  was  frayed  and  much  soiled. 

His  face,  covered  with  a  stubble  of  black  beard, 
was  haggard.  His  dark,  shifting  eyes  had  a  dull, 
outworn  expression. 

The  hand  which  he  stretched  out  towards  the 
little  glass  pushed  towards  him  by  the  gruif,  ill- 
looking  proprietor,  shook  almost  as  if  with  palsy. 

He  grasped  the  slender  stem  eagerly  and  raised 
the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  set  it  down  again  with  a 
nauseate  shudder  and  turned  away.  "I  cannot 
drink  it  !"  he  muttered,  dropping  upon  the  rude 
bench  outside  the  door,  and  drawing  the  brim  of 
his  hat  over  his  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  something 


AT  THE   CORNER  OF  ABSINTHE  AND   ANISETTE       161 

from  his  sight.  "  God!  I  am  dying  for  it,  jet  I 
cannot  drink  it !  There  were  exactly  those  green, 
changing  lights  in  her  eyes  that  day  !  And  when 
I  remember  " — he  threw  out  his  arms  with  a  gest 
ure  of  self-loathing — "when  I  remember  that  I 
am.  after  all,  a  Lafitte  only  by  adoption —  !" 


THE   CLOVEN   HEART 


IT  was  morning  in  the  rose -hedged  garden. 
The  gardener,  a  dark-visaged  old  man,  with 
strangely  gleaming,  deep-sunken  eyes,  and  quick, 
adder-like  movements,  had  just  unearthed  from 
among  the  roots  of  a  stunted  bitter-almond  tree 
a  small  wooden  box.  It  lay  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand.  The  carved  lid  was  fastened  with  hasps 
of  rusty  metal.  He  was  showing  it  to  his  com 
panion. 

She  was  a  tall,  slender  woman,  clad  in  a  coarse, 
loose -sleeved  robe,  which  aimed  to  hide  but 
rather  emphasized  the  fine  outlines  of  her  figure. 
Her  blue  eyes,  beneath  heavy,  black-fringed  lids, 
were  sad — the  eyes  of  one  who  had  lived  through 
an  infinity  of  suffering  or  unsatisfied  longing. 
Her  forehead  was  banded  with  white  linen  ;  a 
veil,  drawn  over  her  head  and  under  her  throat, 
shaded  her  face,  which  was  young,  calm,  and 
singularly  joyless. 

She  looked  silently  on  while  the  old  man 
brushed  the  mould  from  the  box  with  his  fin- 


THE  CLOVEN   HEART  163 

gers  and  pried  open  the  rotting  lid.  A  hand 
ful  of  ancient  gold  coins  lay  within  ;  underneath 
them  were  some  jewels  in  tarnished  silver  set 
ting,  and  a  ring  of  clumsy  workmanship,  on 
whose  dull-blue  signet-stone  was  cut  an  odd  de 
vice — a  rosary  drawn  through  a. cleft  heart. 

The  woman  eyed  the  gold  incuriously.  "It 
may  be  used  in  payment  for  glass  in  the  oriel," 
she  said,  lifting  her  eyes  to  a  crumbling  tower 
of  the  building  which  flanked  the  garden. 

The  gardener  stooped,  laying  hold  of  the 
gnarled  almond -tree  to  set  it  in  its  place— for 
a  heavy  wind  had  overblown  it  in  the  night. 
But  he  straightened  himself  abruptly,  arrested 
by  a  half -whisper  which  dropped  from  the  wom 
an's  lips.  It  was  spoken  in  a  strange  tongue, 
with  long,  caressing  syllables  and  curious  inflec 
tions. 

The  shadow  of  a  crumbling  tower  fell  over  the 
spot  where  they  stood.  At  the  farther  end  of 
the  large  garden  three  young  girls  were  walking 
to  and  fro  along  a  sunlighted  walk.  Their  low 
voices  sounded  in  the  distance  like  the  murmur 
of  bees. 

With  head  averted  the  gardener  listened  while 
the  mistress  spoke  long  and  rapidly.  Her  speech 
had  in  it  the  subtle  monotony  of  the  Eastern 
juggler's  incantation  when  he  causes  a  seed  to 
swell  and  burst  and  spring  into  a  tree  before 
the  eyes  of  the  spectator,  waving  his  hand  the 
while,  and  fanning  the  budding  leaves  with  a 
branch  of  faded  palm. 

When  she  had  concluded  the  old  man  replied 


164  THE   CLOVEN  HEART 

briefly  in  the  same  tongue.  There  was  a  tone 
of  awed  entreaty  in  his  voice.  A  fire  shot  into 
her  blue  eyes,  and  her  slight  form  stiffened 
haughtily.  He  crouched  to  her  feet  and  kissed 
the  hem  of  her  coarse  gown.  She  dropped  the 
antique  coins  into  his  outstretched  palm  and 
turned  away. 

The  young  girls  made  a  deep  obeisance  as  she 
passed  them.  She  entered  the  high  Gothic  door 
way,  and  moved  slowly  towards  a  dim  point  of 
light  which  shone  in  the  shadows  beyond  a  fret 
work  of  marble.  Her  hands,  grasping  the  jewels, 
were  covered  by  her  long,  flowing  sleeves. 


II 

A  carriage  stopped  before  a  tall  brick  man 
sion  fronting  on  a  side  street  of  the  city.  A 
sign  above  the  arched  entrance  showed  the  house 
to  be  a  hotel ;  a  crowd  of  well-dressed  idlers  on 
the  veranda  testified  to  its  importance.  These 
looked  down  curiously  as  the  carriage  drew  up 
at  the  steps,  and  its  single  occupant — a  woman — 
leaned  forward.  The  electric  light— for  it  was 
long  past  the  close  of  the  short  winter  day — fell 
upon  her  muffled  figure  and  veiled  face.  The 
maskers  in  the  street,  excited  by  the  mumming 
and  merriment  of  the  Carnival,  pressed  against 
the  carriage  wheels.  The  obsequious  attendant 
who  had  come  out  of  the  hotel  laid  his  hand  on 
the  carriage  door.  He  was  thrust  aside  by  the 
proprietor,  who  assisted  his  guest  to  alight.  His 


THE   CLOVEN  HEART  165 

manner  indicated  that  special  orders  had  been 
given  for  her  reception.  He  offered  her  his  arm 
with  a  show  of  gallantry ;  she  waved  him  aside 
without  speaking,  and  signed  him  to  precede 
her  up  the  broad  steps.  She  followed  him  with 
an  air  in  which  timidity  and  assurance  were 
strangely  blended. 

The  room  into  which  she  was  conducted  was 
large,  and  richly  though  quietly  furnished.  It 
was  faintly  illuminated  by  candles  burning  in 
silver  sconces.  The  polished  floor  was  overlaid 
with  heavy  rugs ;  the  carved  furniture  was  of  a 
quaint,  old-fashioned  pattern. 

On  a  low  couch  placed  within  a  curtained  al 
cove  was  spread  a  profusion  of  women's  gar 
ments,  exquisite  in  color  and  texture. 

The  woman,  on  entering,  closed  the  door  and 
walked  to  one  of  the  gilt -framed  mirrors  set  in 
the  wall.  She  removed  her  veil  and  gazed  long 
and  fixedly  at  her  own  image,  which  looked  back 
at  her  with  steady,  unsmiling  eyes.  Her  bosom 
heaved.  She  snatched  the  veil  across  her  face 
and  stumbled  towards  the  door ;  but  her  eyes 
caught  the  gleam  of  silk  and  lace  on  the  couch, 
and  she  stopped,  trembling,  and  began  to  unloose 
the  clasps  of  her  dark  mantle. 


Ill 

A  little  before  midnight  the  gayly  decorated 
salon  hard  by  began  to  fill,  and  presently  a  car 
nival  rout  was  in  full  swing  there.  It  differed 


166  THE   CLOVEN   HEART 

little  in  outward  appearance  from  other  pre- 
Lenten  revels.  There  were  few  maskers,  and  these 
were  gravely  decorous  beneath  their  masks  and 
dominoes.  The  inexperienced  observer  would 
have  failed  to  detect  an  almost  imperceptible 
undercurrent  —  the  innuendo  lurking  beneath 
the  jest,  the  covert  meaning  behind  a  rapid  in 
terchange  of  glances,  the  quick  signal  given  and 
returned  in  the  passing  crowd. 

A  group  of  young  men  in  faultless  evening- 
dress  stood,  during  an  interval  of  the  dance,  near 
the  ball-room  door.  Most  of  them  had  a  Uase 
expression  ;  nearly  all  showed  signs  of  recent 
dissipation.  One  only — a  clean  -  shaven,  hand 
some,  ruddy-faced  young  fellow  of  twenty-five  or 
so — seemed  fresh  and  unworn.  He  was  appar 
ently  unknown  to  the  others,  who  looked  at 
him  with  an  amused  contempt  not  unmixed  with 
envy. 

He  had  been  dancing  —  a  little  awkwardly, 
it  is  true,  but  with  an  abandon  and  gallantry 
which  made  the  tired  nerves  of  his  dancer  thrill 
as  they  had  not  thrilled  for  many  a  long  year. 
He  was  looking  about  him  now  eagerly,  as  if 
making  mental  choice  of  a  partner  for  the  waltz 
whose  lazy  tones  were  beginning  to  pulse  upon 
the  air. 

At  that  moment  a  woman  came  down  the  nar 
row  entrance-hall,  unwinding  from  her  head,  as 
she  approached  the  door,  a  filmy  lace  scarf.  It 
was  the  same  woman  who  had  alighted  at  dusk 
from  her  carriage  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  in  a 
neighboring  street. 


THE  CLOVEN  HEART  167 

She  was  extraordinarily  and  strangely  beauti 
ful  in  her  ball-dress.  This  was  composed  of 
heavy,  dull-yellow  satin,  foamy  about  the  foot 
with  lace  so  old  as  to  be  nearly  the  same  color. 
A  band  of  gold  was  fastened  about  the  slim 
waist  with  an  agraffe  of  diamonds  sunk  deep  in 
unpolished  silver.  Clasps  of  the  same  jewels 
held  together  the  narrow  shoulder-bands  of  the 
low  corsage,  which  left  her  perfect  neck  and 
arms  bare.  Her  black  hair  was  cut  close,  giving 
a  singularly  proud  look  to  her  erect,  well-shaped 
head.  Her  blue  eyes  wore  a  startled,  half-ex 
pectant  expression,  her  red  lips  were  parted,  her 
bosom  rose  and  fell  pantingly. 

An  open  murmur  of  admiration  greeted  this 
dazzling  apparition.  She  pressed  forward  as  if 
to  taste  it  to  the  full,  though  at  the  same  time  a 
burning  blush  suffused  her  pale  face  and  dyed 
her  neck  and  bosom.  It  was  as  if  the  Angel  of 
the  Flesh  shrank  from  that  which  the  spirit 
within  ardently  desired.  She  stopped  abruptly, 
passing  her  hands  along  her  arms  like  one  who 
draws  down  a  long  sleeve. 

This  movement  was  so  constantly  and  appar 
ently  so  unconsciously  repeated  during  the  even 
ing  that  the  spectators  remarked  it  and  com 
mented  wonderingly  upon  it. 

Several  of  the  young  men  near  the  ball-room 
door  sprang  forward  to  meet  her.  But  it  was 
the  clean-shaven  young  stranger  who  first  reached 
her  side.  He  made  scant  ceremony  of  invitation, 
but  placing  his  arm  about  her  waist,  he  drew  her 
into  the  circle  of  dancers.  She  quivered  visibly 


168  THE  CLOVEN   HEART 

at  his  touch,  and  again  the  red  passed  like  a 
wave  over  her  white  skin.  Then  a  soft  yielding 
smile  dawned  into  her  eyes,  and  her  slight  form 
swayed  to  his  embrace. 

The  onlookers  followed  their  movements  with 
cynical,  fascinated  eyes.  They  danced  with  the 
charming,  untaught  grace  of  children.  The 
waltz,  at  first  rhythmic  and  languid,  grew  hur 
ried.  The  dancers  swept,  by  in  circles,  which 
changed  like  the  figures  in  a  kaleidoscope.  The 
sound  of  so  many  light  feet  on  the  smooth  floor 
was  like  the  shoreward  rush  of  foamy  waves. 
The  air  throbbed.  When  the  music  ceased,  with 
a  shrill  clash,  the  frenzied  waltzers  reeled  in 
their  places,  looking  about  them  with  dazed 
eyes,  and  laughing  foolishly. 

The  woman  in  the  dull-yellow  gown  and  the 
clean-shaven  stranger  were  no  longer  among 
them.  They  had  passed,  dancing,  through  one 
of  the  long,  open  windows,  to  the  veranda  out 
side.  There  was  a  tangled  close  below,  where 
the  shadows  of  the  vines  on  the  walks  were  heavy 
in  the  starlight. 

A  mocking-bird  was  singing  in  the  Spanish- 
dagger  tree  in  a  corner  of  the  close.  It  fell  sud 
denly  silent. 

IV 

In  the  old  garden  it  was  still  dark,  though  a 
hint  of  dawn  thrilled  the  air. 

There  was  a  whir  of  wheels  on  the  road  out 
side  ;  a  carriage  stopped,  and  then  crawled  away, 


THE   CLOVEN  HEART  169 

its  lights  shining  like  baleful  fires  in  the  dark 
ness. 

Two  persons  came  in  at  the  small  wicket  cut 
in  the  high,  enclosing  wall.  They  were  the  gar 
dener  and  the  woman.  Her  forehead  was  band 
ed  with  linen,,  and  her  coarse,  dark  robe  trailed 
on  the  dew-wet  walk. 

The  old  man  trembled  so  that  he  could  hardly 
dig  a  place  at  the  foot  of  the  bitter-almond  tree 
to  receive  the  little  carved  box.  The  woman 
threw  into  the  box,  with  a  gesture  of  loathing, 
the  jewels  which  she  carried  in  her  hands,  and 
the  money  left  from  that  which  the  gardener 
had  obtained  in  exchange  for  the  antique  coins. 
He  heaped  the  sod  upon  the  box  and  pressed  it 
down  with  his  foot.  Then  he  stood  still  with 
his  arms  hanging  at  his  side,  his  face  turned  to 
hers  in  the  darkness. 

The  moments  passed  ;  the  moist  leaves  rustled 
to  the  chill  breeze  ;  a  bird  in  an  orange-tree  twit 
tered  dreamily. 

At  length  she  spoke — always  in  the  curious 
foreign  tongue  ;  but  the  glow  and  the  heart-beat 
were  gone  from  it,  and  the  sound  of  it  was  dull 
and  lifeless.  She  seemed  to  be  relating  some 
story  in  which  there  was  shame  and  anguish  for 
them  both  ;  for  she  twisted  her  hands  wildly  as 
she  spoke,  and  the  old  man  wept,  with  his  arms 
hanging  at  his  side. 

When  she  had  finished  she  writhed  to  his  feet 
and  lay  prone  with  her  face  on  the  ground,  her 
dark  mantle  covering  her  like  a  pall. 

He  lifted  her,  and  sought  with  soothing  whis- 


170  THE   CLOVEN  HEART 

pers  to  draw  her  towards  the  wicket.  But  she 
put  him  aside,  suddenly  imperious.  A  single 
word  of  command  came  from  her  ashen  lips. 

The  old  gardener  put  his  hand  to  his  bosom 
and  drew  forth  a  small  packet.  He  laid  it  in  her 
palm,  and,  prostrating  himself,  he  placed  her  san 
dalled  foot  upon  his  neck.  Then  he  arose,  and 
passed,  without  a  backward  glance,  through  the 
gate  in  the  wall.  The  woman  crossed  the  gar 
den  and  entered  the  Gothic  doorway.  She  felt 
her  way  towards  the  small  point  of  light  which 
burned  steadily  in  the  thick  darkness  beyond  the 
fretwork  of  marble. 

The  next  day — it  was  Ash -Wednesday — the 
dim  aisles  rang  with  cries  of  mourning.  For  the 
young  Mistress  had  died  during  the  night  in  the 
great  hall.  There  they  had  found  her  kneeling, 
quite  stiff  and  cold,  with  her  forehead  pressed 
against  the  marble  fretwork. 

The  awe-struck  young  girls  gathered  about  the 
bier  and  gazed,  weeping,  upon  her  beautiful, 
saint-like  face. 

The  bell  in  the  crumbling  tower  tolled  the  live 
long  day.  >i 


At  sunset  of  the  same  day  a  clean-shaven  young 
man,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  old  city,  walked 
up  and  down  a  flower-set  alleyway.  His  dark 
gown  brushed  the  low  hedge ;  the  shadow  of 
lichened  walls  fell  athwart  his  path.  He  was 
reading  from  a  small  book,  but  ever  and  anon  a 


THE  CLOVEN  HEART  171 

vague  smile  came  into  his  dark  eyes,  and  he  drew 
a  ring  from  its  hiding-place  in  his  bosom  and 
looked  furtively  at  it. 

On  its  dull -blue  signet -stone  was  graven  a 
string  of  prayer-beads  drawn  through  a  cloven 
heart. 


Ill 
FROM   THE   QUARTER 


A  HEART -LEAF  FROM  STONY  CREEK 
BOTTOM 


"  JED  HOPSON"  I"  said  the  school-mistress.,  rap 
ping  sharply  with  a  pencil  on  the  edge  of  the 
slate  which  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"Yethum,"  whimpered  Jed,  detected  in  his 
stealthy,  stooping  flight  behind  the  last  row  of 
benches. 

"  What  are  you  doing  away  from  your  seat  ?" 

"Pleathe,  Mith  Pothy,  I  wath  juth  goin'  to 
give  thith  heart-leaf  to  Mary  Ann  Hineth." 

"Bring  it  to  me  instantly,  sir." 

Mary  Ann  Hines  pushed  a  red  underlip  out 
scornfully  at  her  tow-headed  adorer  as  he  passed 
her  on  his  way  to  the  teacher's  desk,  with  the 
long -stemmed,  green,  shining  heart -leaf  in  his 
grimy  hand ;  and  the  other  scholars  giggled  be 
hind  their  calico-covered  geographies. 

Miss  Posy  Weaver's  stern  look  restored  order. 
She  made  Jed  stand  in  a  corner  with  his  face  to 
the  wall,  and  she  put  the  confiscated  love-offer 
ing  in  her  desk.  But  for  the  life  of  her  she 
could  not  help  bruising  it  between  her  fingers 


176        A   HEART-LEAF   FROM   STONY    CREEK   BOTTOM 

and  sniffing  it  surreptitiously,,  with  her  head  be 
hind  the  desk-lid.  Its  aromatic,  woodsy  perfume 
floated  out;  permeating  the  warm,  still  air  of 
the  little  school-room. 

"  Jeddy/'said  the  young  teacher,  affectionate 
ly,  "you  may  go  back  to  your  seat." 

She  looked  furtively  at  the  big  silver  watch 
hanging  at  her  belt,  and  then  glanced  with  long 
ing  eyes  at  the  strip  of  blue  sky  which  shone,  all 
checkered  with  the  swaying  leaves  of  a  young 
sassafras,  between  the  unchinked  logs.  A  ripple 
of  excitement  passed  over  the  score  of  freckled 
faces  turned  expectantly  towards  hers.  By  some 
mysterious  divination  the  scholars  in  the  Stony 
Creek  school-house  were  already  aware  that  an 
extra  half -hour  was  about  to  be  prefixed  to  their 
two-hours  noon  play-time. 

The  school-mistress  leaned  forward  and  laid 
her  hand  on  the  small  silver  bell  which  used  to 
stand  on  the  work-table  of  Mrs.  David  Overall  at 
Sweet  Brier  Plantation. 

The  children  started  up  like  a  herd  of  young 
deer  at  the  clear,  tinkling  sound ;  but  they  went 
out  decorously,  two  and  two.  For  Miss  Posy  had 
studied  pedagogy  in  the  Normal  School  at  Green- 
hurst,  and  herself  presided  with  great  dignity 
once  a  month  at  the  County  Teachers'  Associa 
tion.  But  she  smiled  with  girlish  indulgence  at 
the  whoop  which  Pud  Hines  raised  on  the  very 
threshold  as  he  bounded  out. 

The  isolated  old  log  school-house  was  nestled 
in  a  wooded  hollow  between  two  long  sloping 
pine -clad  hills.  A  rutty,  disused  wagon -road 


A  HEART-LEAF  FROM  STONY  CREEK  BOTTOM        177 

rambled  down  one  of  these  hills,  and  skirted  the 
base  of  the  other.  It  passed  the  school-house 
door,  crossing,  just  below,  a  shallow,  rippling 
branch  which  fell,  a  hundred  yards  or  so  down 
the  hollow,  into  one  of  the  deep  pools  of  Stony 
Creek.  Little  paths,  brown  with  pine-needles, 
led  away  in  every  direction,  worn  by  the  bare  feet 
of  Posy  Weaver's  scholars.  A  large  water -oak 
shaded  the  low  roof  of  the  house ;  a  grape-vine 
trailed  down  from  one  of  the  outstretched  limbs 
and  hoisted  itself  up  again,  forming  a  natural 
swing.  The  ground  beneath  was  skirt-swept  and 
bare,  for  that  was  the  girls'  side.  Some  pretty- 
by-night  bushes  and  a  straggling  line  of  yellow 
nigger -heads  marked  the  limit  of  their  play 
ground.  On  the  other  side  the  boys  of  several 
generations  had  trampled  out  a  ball-field. 

Tom  Simmons,  who  was  at  one  of  the  outer 
bases,  came  running  in.  "  Boys  !  boys  \"  he  cried, 
breathlessly.  "Wish  I  may  die  if  a  wagin  ain't 
comin'  down  the  old  road  I" 

It  was  an  unheard-of  thing,  since  the  laying  of 
the  new  turnpike,  for  anybody  to  drive  along  the 
old  Stony  Creek  road. 

Sure  enough ;  an  open  wagon  was  bumping 
down  the  hill,  between  the  tall,  brown  pine  trunks, 
yawing  first  to  one  side  and  then  to  the  other,  in 
order  to  escape  the  red,  rain-washed  gullies  of 
the  road.  The  shambling,  whity- brown  horse 
which  drew  it  stopped  a  moment  at  the  foot  of 
the  descent  to  breathe ;  then  jogged  lazily  on,  of 
his  own  accord,  to  the  branch,  where  he  dipped 

his  nose,  with  a  snuffle  of  satisfaction,  in  the  sun- 
12 


178        A   HEART-LEAF   FROM   STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM 

warmed  water.  The  boys,  and  one  or  two  of  the 
larger  girls,  hurried  down  to  the  reed -fringed 
bank,  and  stood  gazing,  open-mouthed,  at  the 
vehicle  and  its  occupants. 

The  driver  was  a  lean,  sallow-faced  lad  about 
fifteen  years  old.  He  sat  on  a  plank  laid  across 
the  mud -splashed  bed  of  the  wagon.  Behind 
him,  in  a  couple  of  rickety,  hide-bottomed  chairs, 
were  two  old  men — a  white  man  and  a  negro. 
Both  were  neatly  dressed  in  threadbare  black 
broadcloth,  with  old-fashioned  plaited  shirt- 
fronts  of  the  finest  white  linen.  The  negro  was 
bent  so  nearly  double  that  his  brown,  alert-look 
ing  face  almost  rested  upon  his  knees.  His 
knotted  hands  trembled,  as  if  shaken  by  palsy. 
His  companion  sat  stiffly  erect,  with  his  arms 
crossed  upon  his  breast.  There  was  an  air  of  un 
conscious  dignity  about  him,  though  his  sunken 
eyes  were  humble  and  appealing.  His  face  was 
pale  and  emaciated,  and  his  gaunt  form  was 
shaken  from  time  to  time  by  a  racking  cough. 

A  large-patterned  old  carpet-bag  and  a  bundle 
tied  up  in  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  were  lying 
in  the  back  of  the  wagon,  and  a  battered-looking 
fiddle  was  tucked  under  the  negro's  chair. 

"Mith  Pothy,"  whispered  Jed  Hopson,  laying 
a  timid  hand  on  the  teacher's  arm. 

She  was  sitting  by  the  low,  sliutterless  win 
dow  ;  an  open  book  was  on  her  lap,  and  she 
twirled  the  heart -leaf  absently  in  her  fingers. 
A  ray  of  sunlight  falling  across  her  head  bright 
ened  her  bronze-brown  hair  and  drooping  lash 
es.  She  was  very  young  —  hardly  as  old,  in 


A   HEART  LEAF  FROM    STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM        179 

fact,  as  Pud  Hines  or  Tom  Simmons,  her  oldest 
scholars. 

She  started  at  the  light  touch,  and  smiled  at 
the  small  intruder.  "Well,  Jed,  is  it  a  thorn  in 
the  finger  or  a  splinter  in  the  foot,  this  time  ?" 

"Mith  Pothy" — his  eyes  widened  as  he  spoke 
—"the  po'-houthe  wagin,  with  Tad  Luker  drivin' 
it,  ith  yonder  at  the  branch,  an'  ole  Gunnel  Dave 
Overall  an'  Unc'  Bine  ith  in  it,  goin'  to  the  po'- 
houthe  to  live.  Tad  thayth  he  'th  takin'  'em  to 
the  po'-houthe  'cauthe  they  ain't  able  to  work  no 
more  for  theythelvth,  an7  if  they  don't  go  to  the 
po'-houthe  they'll  thtarve.  Oh,  Mith  Pothy,  what 
'th  the  matter  ?" 

The  girl  had  started  to  her  feet ;  the  color  had 
left  her  cheeks,  and  she  was  staring  at  the  child 
with  frightened  eyes. 

There  was  a  creaky  sound  of  wheels  outside. 
She  ran  out  distractedly.  Tad  Luker  grinned 
with  bashful  delight  at  sight  of  her,  and  drew 
his  horse  up  so  suddenly  that  the  two  old  men 
were  jerked  forward  in  their  chairs.  Colonel 
David  Overall  recovered  himself,  and  removed 
his  rusty  tall  hat  with  a  courtly  bow.  The  school 
mistress  leaned  against  the  wheel,  panting  and 
speechless. 

"Mornin',  Miss  Posy."  The  old  negro  lifted 
a  hand  with  difficulty  to  his  ancient  beaver. 

"  Posy  ?"  echoed  the  Colonel,  turning  inquir 
ingly  from  one  to  the  other,  a  faint  flush  rising 
to  his  hollow  cheek. 

"  Yessah,"  returned  Uncle  Bine.  "  She  de 
gran'chile  o'  we-all's  las'  'f  o'-de-wah  overseer,  sah, 


180        A  HEART-LEAF  FROM  STONY  CREEK  BOTTOM 

Mist'  Josh  Mullen — you  'member  Mist'  Josh  Mul 
len,  Marse  Dave— an'  she  name'  Posy  a'ter  ole 
Mis',  sah." 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  teacher  said,  answering  the 
sudden  look  of  affectionate  interest  in  the  old 
man's  eyes,  "my  name  is  Repose  Cartwright 
"Weaver.  My  mother  was  born  at  Sweet  Brier 
Plantation,  and  she  named  me  for  your  wife. 
She  is  buried  near  Mrs.  Overall  in  the  Sweet 
Brier  burying-ground." 

Colonel  Overall  opened  his  lips  and  then  closed 
them,  swallowing  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"  Won't — won't  you  put  on  your  hat,  Colonel  ?" 
she  stammered,  after  a  moment's  silence,  for  the 
noon  sun  was  beating  hot  upon  his  gray  old  head. 

"Oh  no,  I  could  not  think  of  it,"  he  said, 
hastily,  "  in  the  presence  of  a  lady."  He 
reached  down,  as  he  spoke,  and  took  her  hand 
in  his. 

The  scholars  had  all  pressed  up,  and  were 
standing  in  a  ring  about  the  poor-house  wagon, 
staring  in  respectful  silence  at  the  dispossessed 
owner  of  the  old  Sweet  Brier  Plantation.  Tad 
Luker,  seeing  Miss  Posy's  distress,  and  feeling 
himself  in  some  sort  implicated  in  the  cause  of 
it,  had  slid  down,  and  was  sheltering  himself  be 
hind  the  placid  old  horse  from  the  misery  in  her 
brown  eyes. 

"  Ha  !"  It  was  the  heart-leaf  dropped  from 
Posy  Weaver's  palm  into  his  own  which  had 
brought  an  almost  youthful  light  into  the 
dimmed  eyes.  "  A  heart-leaf  !  I  would  wager, 
Byron" — he  turned  to  the  negro  beside  him — 


A  HEART-LEAP  FROM  STONY   CREEK  BOTTOM        181 

"that  it  came  from  the  Long  Bend  in  Stony 
Creek  bottom." 

"Yeth,  thir,  it  did!"  cried  Jed  Hopson, 
thrusting  his  tousled  head  up  under  the  teach 
er's  arm. 

"Are  you  a  Hopson  ?"  demanded  the  Colonel, 
looking  down  at  him  quizzically. 

"Yeth,  thir;  Jed  Hopthon,  thir." 

The  Colonel  laughed  softly.  "  I  thought  so. 
Your  grandfather  had  the  same  lisp  and  the 
same  tow  head  when  he  was  your  age."  His 
eyes  went  back  to  the  leaf.  "  They  grow/'  he 
said,  "just  beyond  the  Flat  Rock  in  the  Long 
Bend.  You  wade  through  a  boggy  thicket  until 
you  come  to  a  fern-bed ;  a  little  further  to  the 
right  there  is  a  clump  of  beech-trees — four  of 
them — set  close  together  ;  the  heart-leaves  grow 
in  a  sort  of  square  made  by  the  beech  roots." 

"  Yeth,  thir !"  shouted  little  Jed,  quivering 
with  excitement.  "  Fve  knowed  the  plathe  nigh 
a  year,  but  I  ain't  never  told  nobody." 

"And  your  name  is  Repose,  my  dear  ?  Well, 
well  !  And  you  teach  the  Stony  Creek  school  ? 
I  used  to  go  to  school  here  myself,  you  know, 
when  I  was  a  boy,  with  little  Posy  Cartwright. 
Not  in  this  house,  to  be  sure.  The  old  one  was 
pulled  down — some  time  in  the  forties,  I  think 
it  was,  eh,  Byron  ?  I  found  the  heart-leaves  in 
Stony  Creek  bottom  one  day  at  play-time.  Byron 
here,  my  body-servant,  was  with  me." 

"I  wuz  bawn  de  same  day  Marse  Dave  wuz 
bawn,  an'  ole  Marse  gin  me  ter  him  fer  a  body- 
servant,"  interjected  Uncle  Bine. 


182        A  HEART-LEAF  FROM   STONY  CREEK   BOTTOM 

"  I  must  have  been  about  eleven  years  old  at 
the  time.  I  slipped  in  the  bog,  and  had  to  go 
home  in  wet  clothes,  but  I  sent  the  heart-leaf  to 
Posy  by  Byron. " 

"  Yas,"  said  Uncle  Bine,  taking  up  the  story 
as  his  old  master  relapsed  into  silence,  "  an' 
what  you  reckin  Miss  Posy  done  when  I  gin  her 
de  heart-leaf  ?  She  wuz  settin'  in  de  grape-vine 
swing  long  o'  Ver  lil  gal.  Dey  waVt  mo'n 
seven  er  eight  year  ole,  na'r  one  o'  'em,  an*  Miss 
Posy's  yaller  hair  wuz  flyin'  in  de  win'.  I  gin 
her  de  heart-leaf  an'  tole  her  dat  Marse  Dave 
saunt  it,  an' — 'f  o'  de  Lawd  ! — she  up  an'  slap  me 
spang  on  de  jaw,  an'  thV  de  leaf  on  de  groun'. 
She  'ten  lak  she  gwine  ter  tromp  on  it  in  de  bar 
gain  ;  but  I  done  cut  my  eye  on  her  roun'  de 
cornder  o'  de  school-house,  'caze  I  knowed  she 
gwine  ter  pick  it  up." 

"An'  did  she  ?"  asked  Mary  Ann  Hines,  in 
voluntarily  ;  then  hung  her  head,  blushing  red 
through  tan  and  freckles. 

"  Yas,  chile,  co'se  she  did/'  chuckled  Uncle 
Bine.  He  waited  a  moment ;  then  proceeded, 
with  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  self-absorbed  com 
panion  :  "  Fum  dat  day  ontwel  he  went  off  ter 
collige  Marse  Dave  wuz  all  de  time  sp'ilin'  his 
britches  wadin'  roun'  in  dat  bog  a'ter  heart- 
leaves  fer  Miss  Posy ;  an'  when  he  come  back 
fum  collige — de  fines'  young  genterman  dat  ever 
kep'  a  pack  o'  houn's — he  fairly  hang  roun'  de 
Poplars,  wher'  Mist'  Tom  Cartwright  live',  fum 
mawnin'  twel  night.  Ole  Marse  say  he  'spec' 
Miss  Posy  leadin'  Marse  Dave  a  dance.  An'  at 


A   HEART-LEAF   FROM   STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM 


183 


las',  one  night,  lie  rid  home  fum  de  Poplars 
lookin'  lak  he  plum  desput.  !STex'  mawniii'  he 
ax  me  ter  saddle  de  hosses  'fo'  day,  'caze  he 
gwine  huntin'  down  in  Stony  Creek  bottom.  I 
wuz  'bleedged  ter  go  'hine  de  stable  ter  laugh 
when  he  come  out'n  de  house  'bout  daylight, 
'caze  how  Marse  Dave  gwine  ter  hunt  'dout  a 
gun  ?  We  rid  at  a  run  down  ter  de  Long  Ben' 
o'  de  creek,  an'  fus'  t'ing  I  knowed  Marse  Dave 
done  flung  me  his  bridle  an'  jump'  onter  de  Flat 
Rock ;  an'  dar  he  wuz  wadin'  thoo  de  bog,  in 
his  fine  clo's,  ter  de  beeches  wher'  de  heart-leaf 

grow  ! 

"Hit  wa'n't  mo'n  breakf us' -time  when  we 
come  ter  de  cross-road  'twix'  Sweet  Brier  an'  de 
Poplars.  Den  Marse  Dave  he  check  up  de  gray 
an'  han'  me  de  heart-leaf. 

"  <Tek  it  ter  Miss  Posy  Cartwright/  he  say. 
1  I'm  gwine  ter  wait  right  here  ontwel  you  come 
back.  Hit's  de  turn  o'  my  life,  Bine/ 

"  I  lef  him  settin'  straight  ez  a  saplin'  on  de 
big  gray,  an'  I  rid  on  ter  de  Poplars.  Dar  wuz 
Miss  Posy  walkin'  up  an'  down  de  gal'ry  in  her 
white  dress,  an'  de  win'  blowin'  her  yaller  hair. 
She  look  at  me  curus-lak  wi'  her  blue  eyes  when 
she  tuk  de  leaf.  'Fo'  de  Lawd,  I  wuz  feared  she 
wuz  gwine  ter  th'o'  it  on  de  groun'  an'  tromp  on 
it !  But  she  turn  her  head,  fus'  dis  way  an7  den 
dat,-  an'  den  she  say,  sof  an'  sassy-lak,  <  Mek  my 
compliments  to  yo'  marster,  an'  ax  him  do  he 
want  re-pose  fer  his  heart.' 

"  I  ain'  sho',  but  seem  lak  I  heerd  Miss  Posy 
call  me  back  ez  I  onlatch  de  big  gate,  but 


184        A   HEAKT-LEAF   PROM   STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM 

somep'n'  inside  me  aiggd  me  not  ter  look  roun'. 
Marse  Dave  wuz  pale  ez  death  when  I  galloped 
up  ter  de  cross-road  wher'  he  wuz  waitin'.  But 
I  am'  no  sooner  got  Miss  Posy's  words  out'n  my 
mouf  dan  he  streck  spurs  in  de  gray  an'  mek  fer 
de  Poplars  lak  a  streak  o?  lightnin'.  He  done 
fergot  dat  his  clo's  all  splesh  over  mud  fum  dat 
Long  Ben'  bog." 

The  Colonel  was  listening  now,  and  he  smiled 
encouragement  as  Uncle  Bine  stopped  to  cough. 

"  I  reckin  dass  huccum  Miss  Posy  wore  heart- 
leaves  stidder  white  flowers  at  de  weddin'.  Me 
an'  Marse  Dave  went  down  ter  de  bottom  a'ter 
'em  on  de  weddin'  -  day  mawnin'.  An'  dat 
huccum  every  year,  when  de  same  day  come 
eroun',  Marse  Dave  useter  ride  down  ter  Stony 
Creek  an'  wade  out  ter  dem  beeches  a'ter  a  heart- 
leaf.  But  he  never  did  fetch  'em  ter  Miss  Posy 
hisse'f.  He  useter  stop  in  de  summer-house  an' 
sen'  me  inter  de  house,  wher'  Miss  Posy  wuz  set- 
tin'  in  de  mawnin'-room,  wi'  de  silver  bell  on  de 
wu'k-table  'longside  her.  She  useter  tek  de 
heart-leaf  an'  look  at  me  out'n  dem  laughin'  eyes 
an'  say,  '  Mek  my  compliments  to  yo'  marster, 
an'  ax  him  do  he  want  re-pose  fer  his  heart.' 
An'  'reckly  Marse  Dave  'd  come  bulgin'  inter  de 
house  an'  tek  her  in  his  arms !  Every  year, 
'cep'n'  endurin'  o'  de  wah,  when  Marse  Dave  an' 
young  Marse  Cartwright,  his  onlies'  son  dat  wuz 
killed  in  de  wah,  wuz  away  fum  Sweet  Brier — 
every  year  fer  up'ards  o'  forty  year,  I  fotch  a 
heart-leaf  ter  ole  Mis',  an'  tuk  dat  same  message 
ter  Marse  Dave  in  de  summer  -  house.  But  I 


A   HEART-LEAP   PROM   STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM         185 

couldn't  no  wise  mek  out  de  meaiiin'  o'  Miss 
Posy's  message,  ontwel,  all  at  once,  one  day, 
fetchin'  dem  words  ter  Marse  Dave,  I  got  de 
meanin'.  It  flesh  over  me  in  a  minit.  Repose, 
dat  mean  res',  you  know,  an'  de  heart-leaf  stan' 
f er  Marse  Dave's  heart.  Does  you  want  res'  fer 
yo'  heart  9  I  bus'  out  laughin'  now  ever'  time 
I  'member  how  de  true  meanin'  o'  dem  words 
flesh  over  me  a'ter  up'ards  o'  forty  year  !"  He 
wagged  his  head  up  and  down,  laughing  wheez- 

iiy. 

"  Dass  de  las'  time  I  ever  fotch  de  heart-leaf/' 
he  added,  in  a  subdued  tone,  "'caze  Miss  Posy 
died  dat  same  year,  an'  Marse  Dave  hatter  sell 
Sweet  Brier." 

Yes,  Sweet  Brier,  tumble -down  and  dilapi 
dated  in  the  midst  of  its  shrunken  fields,  had 
passed  into  alien  hands.  The  household  belong 
ings — the  quaint  old  furniture  which  had  been 
handed  down  from  one  generation  of  Overalls  to 
another — had  been  sold  at  auction.  Posy  Wea 
ver  longed  to  tell  the  last  of  the  Overalls  how  she 
herself  had  bought,  out  of  her  first  scanty  earn 
ings,  the  little  silver  bell  which  used  to  stand  on 
his  wife's  work-table.  But  she  could  not,  some 
how.  She  stood  silently  looking  back  over  the 
past  few  years — which  seemed  long  in  her  brief 
life — during  which  Uncle  Bine  and  his  old  mas 
ter  had  lived  together  in  one  of  the  deserted  ne 
gro  cabins  at  Sweet  Brier;  keeping  up,  in  the 
midst  of  the  new  and  strange  generation,  their 
unequal  struggle  with  poverty  and  sickness,  un 
til— 


186        A    HEART-LEAF   FROM   STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM 

Colonel  David  Overall's  thoughts,  it  would 
seem,  had  been  travelling  along  with  hers.  "I 
am  told,"  he  said,  abruptly,  but  with  great  gen 
tleness,  "that  the — the  place  to  which  they  are 
taking  Byron  and  me  is  very  comfortable.  There 
is  a  wide  gallery  and  shade-trees,  and—  A  vi 
olent  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  his  speech. 

The  young  teacher  leaned  her  head  upon  the 
tire  of  the  wheel  and  wept  silently.  The  older 
boys  slunk  away,  ashamed  and  frightened  at  the 
sight  of  their  teacher's  tears.  The  girls  turned 
their  heads  and  pretended  not  to  notice. 

A  sharp  click  disturbed  the  silence.  It  was  the 
snapping  of  a  string  on  Uncle  Bine's  old  fiddle. 

Tad  Luker  stooped  under  the  horse's  neck  and 
came  around  to  where  the  school-mistress  was 
standing.  "  Miss  Po-Posy,"  he  whispered,  des 
perately,  "  I  orter  go.  I'll  git  a  lickin'  if  I  don't. 
An',  Miss  Posy,  I  —  I  fetched  him  over  the  old 
road  so's  to  keep  offer  the  'pike,  where  folks 
might  ha'  seen  him  on  his  way  to  the  poor-house." 

Posy  gave  him  a  grateful  look  through  her 
tears,  and  pressed  eagerly  between  the  wheels 
to  murmur  something  which  the  children  could 
not  hear.  But  the  old  Colonel  shook  his  head. 
"No,  no,  my  dear,  I  cannot  burden  an  orphaned 
child  like  you.  It  will  not  be  long,  for  Byron 
and  I  are  very  old.  Besides" — he  straightened 
himself  with  dignity — "I  am  told  that  the  coun 
ty  poor-house  is  quite  comfortable— quite  com 
fortable." 

Tad  clambered  to  his  seat ;  he  shook  the  reins, 
and  the  old  horse  pricked  up  his  ears. 


A    HEART-LEAP   FROM    STONY   CREEK   BOTTOM         187 

"Wait  a  moment,  please/'  said  Colonel  David 
Overall,  lifting  Ms  hand.  "My  dear,"  he  con 
tinued,  looking  wistfully  down  into  the  girl's 
flushed  and  tear-stained  face,  "would  — would 
you  mind  standing  for  a  second  upon  the  step  ?" 

She  sprang  lightly  upon  the  muddy  wagon- 
step. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  head.  "  Repose  Cart- 
wright  I  It  was  my  wife's  name,"  he  muttered, 
kissing  her  on  either  cheek.  And  then  he  turned 
and  laid  his  arm  about  Uncle  Bine's  bowed  shoul 
ders. 

The  wagon  rattled  away,  jolting  the  old  men 
in  their  chairs,  and  displacing  the  grotesque 
beavers  on  their  heads.  A  turn  of  the  red  road 
presently  hid  them  from  view,  and  a  moment 
later  the  silver  bell  was  calling  the  scholars  of 
the  Stony  Creek  school  to  order. 


A  BAMBOULA 


FRANCIS  UNDERWOOD  glanced  about  him  as 
the  train  whizzed  away,  leaving  him  the  sole  oc 
cupant  of  the  narrow  platform  upon  which  he 
had  alighted.  His  smaller  luggage  lay  at  his 
feet,  but  his  travelling- trunk  was  nowhere  in 
sight.  The  few  idlers — a  couple  of  sallow-faced, 
shock-headed  crackers  and  a  squad  of  noisy  ne 
gro  lads — who  had  collected  about  the  little  way- 
station  while  the  train  made  its  momentary  halt, 
had  disappeared.  He  walked  to  the  end  of  the 
platform,  where  a  dozen  or  more  turpentine  bar 
rels  stood  on  end,  their  contents  oozing  from  the 
rifts  in  their  sun-warped  sides,  and  cast  his  eyes 
over  the  green  flat,  which  was  bounded  in  every 
direction  by  low,  red,  pine -clad  hills.  The  dim 
haze  of  an  early  autumn  afternoon  hung  in  the 
pine-tops  ;  a  thin  spiral  of  smoke  arose  from  the 
chimney  of  the  single  cabin  within  range  of  vis 
ion  ;  a  rickety  buggy,  over  whose  sagging  top  flut 
tered  the  loose  end  of  a  woman's  veil,  was  just 
turning  the  distant  bend  of  a  road.  There  were 


A   BAMBOULA  189 

no  other  visible  signs  of  life.  The  perplexed 
traveller  strode  back  to  the  dingy  waiting-room 
and  looked  in.  The  tripping  click  of  the  tele 
graph  in  the  cubby  beyond  and  a  familiar  open 
ing  in  the  thin  board  partition  indicated  the  oc 
casional  presence,  at  least,  of  operator  and  agent ; 
but  the  individual  who  combined  these  two  func 
tions  was  in  momentary  eclipse. 

Underwood  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  meditated,  frowning  impatiently. 

"De  telegraph  is  boun'  fer  ter  clickety-click, 
sah,"  said  a  voice  over  his  shoulder;  "she  jes 
keep  on  er-talkin'  ter  herse'f  in  yander  same  ez 
ef  de  boss  was  Alongside  her  ter  write  her  down." 

The  young  man  turned  quickly  and  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  negro,  who  held  a 
carriage-whip  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  his 
own  bag,  top-coat,  and  umbrella. 

"  Sense  me,  sah,"  the  speaker  continued,  re 
moving  his  hat.  "  I  reckin  you  mus'  be  Mist' 
Onderwood  ?" 

Underwood  nodded  assent. 

"  Dey's  lookm'  fer  you  at  Pine  Needles,  Mist' 
Onderwood.  Step  dis  way,  sah.  Yo'  trunk  is 
gone  on  in  de  cyart.  But  I  am'  been  able  ter 
fetch  up  de  cay'age  ontwel  de  ingine  stop  her 
fool  screeching  'caze  my  hosses  is  kinder  res'less." 

He  led  the  way  as  he  spoke  to  a  light  trap, 
which  had  been  driven  up  noiselessly,  and  was 
waiting  near  the  steps  of  the  low  platform. 

Underwood  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the 
cushioned  seat,  and  turned  a  gaze  of  wondering 
admiration  on  his  conductor,  who  stood  with  a 


190 


A  BAMBOULA 


hand  on  the  glossy  flank  of  one  of  the  horses, 
respectfully  awaiting  orders.  He  was  himself  of 
unusual  height,  slenderly  proportioned,  but  with 
an  athletic  frame  and  well-knit  muscles,  which 
contradicted  a  rather  boyish  face,  laughing  blue 
eyes,  and  a  sensitive  mouth,  whose  weakness  was 
not  wholly  concealed  by  a  light,  drooping  mus 
tache.  But  he  seemed  suddenly  dwarfed.  The 
negro  towered  like  a  giant  above  the  tall  mulatto 
who  held  the  bridles  of  the  horses.  His  large 
head,  crowned  with  a  bush  of  crisp,  wiry  curls, 
was  set  squarely  upon  shoulders  of  enormous 
breadth.  Underwood  examined  almost  with  awe 
the  broad  chest  and  massive  limbs ;  the  latter 
were  straight  and  well  formed ;  the  powerful 
wrist,  indeed,  and  the  hand,  with  its  long  fingers, 
perfect  nails,  and  outward-curving  palm,  might 
have  served  for  a  sculptor's  model.  He  Avas  jet- 
black.  His  square -jawed  face  was  beardless. 
His  long,  brown  eyes  had  the  melancholy  soft 
ness  characteristic  of  his  race;  the  lips  were 
thick,  and  the  cheek-bones  prominent,  but  the 
nose  was  straight  and  shapely,  giving  a  curious 
and  unexpected  dignity  to  an  otherwise  typical 
negro  physiognomy.  He  spoke  the  uncouth 
tmtois  of  the  quarters,  but  his  bearing  was  that 
of  one  who  held  a  position  of  trust  and  confi 
dence. 

He  was  clad  in  a  sort  of  homely  livery  of  dark- 
blue  flannel — a  blouse,  whose  open  collar  exposed 
his  full  throat,  and  loose  trousers  held  in  at  the 
waist  by  a  broad  leather  belt. 

Underwood  waved  his  hand  as  he  concluded 


A   BAMBOULA 


191 


his  brief,  half-unconscious  inspection,  and  the 
black  colossus  took  a  seat  beside  him,  the  mu 
latto  stepped  aside,  and  the  handsome  bays 
sprang  forward  at  the  loosening  of  the  reins. 
The  road  wound  gradually  up  long,  sloping  hills, 
dipping  now  and  then  into  a  moist  hollow,  where 
the  sturdy  underbrush  and  the  jungle-like  growth 
of  trees  were  aflame  under  the  first  light  touches 
of  the  frost.  A  few  belated  spikes  of  goldenrod 
nodded  by  the  road-side,  and  an  occasional  cluster 
of  dim  purple  asters  shone  against  the  back 
ground  of  a  fallen  pine ;  but  the  Indian-pipe— 
precursor  of  winter — was  already  thrusting  its 
waxen  crook  through  the  dark  mould  on  the 
sheltered  slopes.  The  hill-sides  were  brown  with 
pine-needles.  The  sky,  in  the  waning  sunlight, 
was  a  fine,  soft  purple  ;  the  plumy  tops  of  the 
lofty  pines  seemed  to  melt  into  it  far  overhead  ; 
the  warm  air  was  charged  with  aromatic  odors. 
Underwood  bared  his  head,  and  expanded  his 
lungs  with  an  idle  sense  of  well-being.  His  eyes 
followed  dreamily  the  flight  of  a  hawk  across  the 
sky.  A  faint  smile  curved  his  lips. 

"  Dar's  a  molly  cottontail !"  suddenly  ex 
claimed  the  negro.  A  rabbit  sped  across  the 
road  a  few  paces  in  front  of  the  horses  and  scur 
ried  up  a  ridge,  her  gray  ears  laid  back  and  her 
white  bit  of  a  tail  in  the  air.  "Dat's  bad  luck, 
Mist'  Onderwood  !" 

Underwood  recalled  a  half-forgotten  super 
stition.  "Not  for  me,"  he  said,  gayly.  "I 
carry  a  rabbit  foot  in  my  pocket !  What  is  your 
name — boy  ?"  he  continued,  stumbling  over  the 


192  A  BAMBOULA 

last  word,  quizzically  conscious  of   its  inappro- 
priateness. 

"  Marcas,  sah,"  returned  the  "boy/"  promptly. 
"Dey  calls  me  Blue-gum  Marc/'  he  added,  with 
a  side  glance  at  the  questioner  and  a  suppressed 
chuckle. 

"  Blue-gum  Marc  ?"  echoed  Underwood,  in 
terrogatively. 

The  giant  opened  his  mouth,  drawing  back 
his  thick  lips,  and  pointed  significantly  to  a 
double  row  of  glistening  white  teeth,  set  in  gums 
of  a  dark  leaden  blue.  "Dat's  de  reason,  sah," 
he  said,  lightly.  "  Fs  a  blue-gum  nigger.  An' 
dey  'lows  ef  I  git  mad  at  anybody,  an'  bite  de 
pusson,  dat  bite  gwine  ter  be  wusser  'n  rattle 
snake  pizen  !  Der  ain'  no  whiskey  in  de  jug  dat 
kin  heal  up  de  bite  of  a  blue-gum  nigger  !" 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  Avith  a 
keen  enjoyment  of  his  own  words. 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  it  ?"  asked  Underwood, 
carelessly. 

"  Who  ?  Me  ?  Gawd-a-mighty  I— no  salt!" 
A  sudden  spasm  of  terror  swept  over  the  ebon 
face.  "No,  sah,"  he  repeated,  relapsing  into 
decorous  mirth.  "  I  'ain'  never  had  no  call  ter 
bite  anybody  yit." 

The  horses  shied  violently  as  he  concluded. 

"  What  in  de  name  o'  Gawd  is  de  matter  wid 
you,  Dandy  ?  Whoa,  Jim  !"  he  ejaculated,  tight 
ening  his  grasp  on  the  reins,  and  peering  to 
right  and  left  with  a  frown  on  his  forehead. 
Underwood  saw  the  frown  melt  suddenly,  and  a 
light  leap  into  the  dark  eyes.  He  followed  the 


A   BAMBOULA  193 

direction  of  his  gaze ;  his  own  heart  beat  tumul- 
tuously,  and  the  blood  surged  into  his  cheeks. 

The  glade  through  which  they  were  passing 
was  filled  with  the  uncertain  shadows  of  a  fast- 
gathering  twilight,  though  the  slanting  beams  of 
the  sun  still  illuminated  the  crest  of  the  hills. 
A  little  stream,  whose  rippling  murmur  filled  the 
silence,  ran  obliquely  across  the  road  and  widened 
into  a  broad  pool  in  the  thicket  beyond.  The 
half-dried  reeds  on  the  margin,  and  the  over 
hanging  trees  with  their  festooning  vines,  were 
mirrored  in  the  clear  brown  depths  of  this  wave- 
less  tarn.  A  woman  was  standing  on  the  far 
ther  side,  her  tall,  lithe  figure  outlined  by  the 
pale  glimmer  of  her  gown.  One  hand,  which 
held  a  cluster  of  vivid  red  leaves,  hung  at  her 
side  ;  the  other  was  arched  above  her  brows  as 
she  leaned  forward  in  a  listening  attitude.  As 
they  whirled  past,  Underwood  eaught  the  gleam 
of  a  bare,  tawny  wrist,  and  the  glow  of  a  pair  of 
large,  lustrous  eyes. 

"  Who  was  that  ?"  he  demanded,  abruptly. 

"  S'lome,"  responded  his  companion,  with 
affected  indifference.  "She  Miss  Cecil's  own 
maid,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  thought  at  first  that  it  was  Miss  Cecil  her 
self,"  said  Underwood,  glancing  back  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  S'lome  do  look  lak — "  the  negro  checked 
himself  and  averted  his  face,  flecking  Dandy's 
arched  neck  with  the  whip-tassel. 

Something  in  his  tone  struck  the  young  man 
at  his  side ;  he  drew  the  lap-robe  closer  about 


13 


194  A   BAMBOULA 

his  knees,  for  the  air  was  growing  chill,  and  re 
mained  silent  until  Marcas  sprang  to  the  ground 
to  open  the  boundary  gate  of  Pine  Needles,  Miss 
Cecil  Berkeley's  fine  old  country  place. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Marc  ?"  he  asked,  struck 
anew  by  the  negro's  noble  physical  proportions. 

"  Twenty-five,  come  Christmas,  sah.  Bawn 
jes  inside  o'  freedom.  Hit's  mighty  liftin'  ter  be 
bawn  free,  an'  ter  be  raise'  up  free,  Mist'  Onder- 
wood,"  he  went  on,  resuming  his  seat  and  taking 
the  reins  from  Underwood's  hands.  "  But  my 
old  daddy  'am'  had  no  call  ter  complain  whilse 
lie  was  a  slave." 

"Where—"  began  Underwood. 

"My  daddy  was  a  Affican  prince — "  the  fine 
nostrils  dilated  and  the  broad  chest  heaved. 
'f  Colonel  Berkeley  bought  him  out'n  a  slave-pen 
in  Charl's'n,  wher  he  was  dyiu'  lak  a  dog,  an' 
fotch  him  home.  An'  fum  dat  day  twel  de  day 
he  died  he  had  the  treatments  of  a  genterman 
at  Pine  Needles.  Dere  wa'n't  a  drap  o'  blood  in 
his  body  dat  he  wouldn't  ha'  spilF  fer  de  Berke- 
leys  !  An7  dat  huccome  I  'ain'  never  lef  Miss 
Cecil,  Mist'  Onderwood.  'Gaze  dat  ole  Affican 
prince  is  layin'  out  yander  in  de  fam'ly  buryin'- 
groun'  'longside  o'  ole  marster  an'  ole  mis' ;  an' 
who  gwine  ter  tek  keer  o'  Miss  Cecil  ef  I  go  ?" 

Underwood,  moved  by  the  simplicity  and 
earnestness  of  the  speaker,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
brawny  arm  next  to  him,  and  opened  his  lips  to 
speak.  But  Marcas  shrank  from  the  light  touch. 
Underwood  felt  the  firm  flesh  quiver  beneath  his 
fingers.  "  He  knows  that  I  have  come  to  carry 


A   BAMBOULA  195 

away  his  young  mistress,  and  he  is  jealous/'  he 
thought,  smiling  with  pardonable  exultation. 

His  eyes  roved  curiously  over  the  broad  park. 
The  kind  of  table  -  land,  from  which  the  pine 
hills  sloped  away  to  the  west  and  north,  was  cov 
ered  with  noble  woodland  trees,  through  whose 
trunks,  in  passing,  he  caught  glimpses  of  orchards, 
vineyards,  and  fields.  It  was  his  first  visit  to 
Pine  Needles,  and  he  looked  out  eagerly  for  the 
house.  A  last  turn  of  the  smooth  road  brought 
it  in  view — a  large,  rambling  country-house,  em 
bowered  in  greenery,  with  wide  galleries,  slanting 
roof,  and  square,  red-brick  chimneys. 

"  Yander's  Miss  Cecil,  er-waitin'  !"  saicl  Mar- 
cas,  pointing  with  his  whip.  Underwood  bare 
ly  had  time  to  catch  the  flutter  of  light  gar 
ments  through  the  foliage  before  the  horses  were 
drawn  up  beneath  the  veranda  where  she  stood. 

She  came  down  the  steps  with  outstretched 
hands.  "Welcome  to  Pine  Needles,  Francis," 
she  said,  with  a  sort  of  shy  pride.  "This  is 
my  cousin,  Mrs.  Garland,"  she  added,  presenting 
the  small,  alert-looking  personage  who  filled  the 
agreeable  office  of  companion  to  the  young  heiress. 

Cecil  Berkeley  offered  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the 
man  upon  whom  she  was  about  to  bestow  the 
ownership  of  herself  and  the  Berkeley  estates. 
She  was  tall  and  slender,  with  hair  and  brows  of 
an  almost  startling  blackness,  and  dark  eyes  in 
which  a  smouldering  fire  seemed  to  dwell ;  her 
high-bred  oval  face  was  singularly  delicate  in  its 
outlines.  There  was  a  pliant  softness  in  her 
movements  and  a  hint  of  strength  in  her  firm 


196  A   BAMBOULA 

white  chin  and  perfect  mouth.  She  flushed  as 
her  lover's  ardent  eyes  met  hers  in  the  fading 
light. 

"  Welcome  to  Pine  Needles  !"  she  cried  again, 
springing  lightly  up  the  steps. 

Underwood  had  not  finished  relating  the  com 
mon-place  details  of  his  southward  journey  when 
the  soft  fall  of  unshod  feet  sounded  on  the  pol 
ished  floor ;  a  shadowy  form  glided  across  the 
dim-lit  room  in  which  they  were  seated,  and  bent 
over  Miss  Berkeley's  chair.  He  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  that  it  was  the  woman  whom  he  had  seen 
an  hour  before  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  dark 
pool  in  the  hollow. 

"  Thank  you,  S'lome,"  said  her  mistress,  in  a 
tone  of  affectionate  familiarity,  taking  the  leaves, 
whose  color  was  lost  in  the  semi-darkness.  The 
quadroon  bent  her  shapely  head,  and  passed  from 
the  room  as  silently  as  she  had  entered  it. 

That  night  they  sat  late  before  a  blazing  pine- 
knot  fire  in  the  snug  library.  The  hands  of  the 
slow-ticking  old  clock  on  the  mantel  pointed 
almost  to  midnight  when  the  guest  arose  to  bid 
his  hostess  good-night.  As  he  opened  the  door 
a  strain  of  music  fell  upon  his  ears,  accompanied 
with  a  burst  of  noisy  laughter. 

Cecil  smiled  in  reply  to  his  questioning  look. 
"Uncle  Darius  is  fiddling  on  the  kitchen  gal 
lery,"  she  said,  "and  the  negroes  are  doubtless 
dancing  there,  late  as  it  is.  Come,  let  us  take  a 
peep  at  them." 

She  led  the  way  down  the  wide  hall,  and  out 
upon  a  small  vine-hung  porch  in  the  rear  of  the 


A  BAMBOULA  197 

dining-room.  The  night  was  clear  and  still. 
The  grassy  yard  and  the  garden  beyond  were 
bathed  in  the  tranquil  light  of  a  full  moon.  But 
an  enormous  fig-tree,  whose  branches  brushed 
the  low  eaves,  swathed  the  long  kitchen  gallery 
in  dense  shadow,  save  where,  from  an  open  door, 
a  broad  glare  of  red  light  streamed  across  it. 
Uncle  Darius,  lean  and  brown,  sat  just  within 
the  doorway,  fiddling  with  all  his  might,  his 
chair  tilted  against  the  wall,  his  gray  head  thrown 
back,  his  big  bare  foot  keeping  time  on  the  floor. 
Aunt  Peggy,  the  old  black  cook,  dozed  on  a  stool 
beside  him.  A  confused  mass  of  dark  forms 
were  dimly  visible  in  the  shadow,  lying  about  the 
floor,  lounging  on  the  low  steps,  squatting  against 
the  wall.  Here  and  there  a  dusky  face,  a  bare 
foot,  an  out-thrust  arm,  gleamed  strangely  in  the 
muddy  light.  Lindy,  big-limbed  and  black,  and 
Mushmelon  Joe,  small,  wizened,  and  wiry,  sank 
on  their  heels  against  the  door-posts,  breathless 
and  exhausted  after  a  prolonged  "break-down," 
as  the  invisible  spectators  drew  aside  the  leafy 
curtain  and  looked  out. 

"I  am'  gwine  ter  play  nary  Another  tune  ter- 
night,"  declared  Uncle  Darius,  bringing  his  chair- 
legs  down  with  a  thump.  "De  chickens  is 
fair  crowin  fer  day  now."  But  as  a  tall  figure 
stepped  noiselessly  from  the  darkness  into  the 
shaft  of  light,  he  tucked  his  fiddle  under  his  chin 
again  with  a  whoop.  "Now  you  gwine  ter  see 
clancin' !"  he  shouted,  flourishing  his  bow. 
"Blue-gum  Marc  gwine  ter  teach  the  niggers 
how  ter  raek  down  de  cotton  row  I" 


198  A   BAMBOULA 

Marc  swayed  his  huge  body  from  side  to  side 
rhythmically,  then  paused.  "  Ain'  you  gwine  ter 
raek  down  de  cotton  row  'long  o'  me,  S'lome  ?" 
he  demanded,  turning  his  face  towards  a  group 
of  women  at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery. 

"  No/7  drawled  a  low,  musical  voice  there. 

"Den  you  can  ontie  de  fiddle  -  strings,  Uiic' 
Darius,"  said  Marc,  joining  good  -  naturedly  in 
the  loud  laugh  at  his  own  expense. 

Underwood  bent  forward,  straining  his  eyes  in 
the  darkness.  But  Aunt  Peggy  had  already  shut 
the  kitchen  door,  and  a  moment  later  they  all 
trooped  away,  singing,  to  the  negro  settlement 
in  the  pines,  which  had  replaced  the  old  -  time 
quarters. 

II 

One  morning  about  ten  days  later  Miss  Berke 
ley  came  out  of  the  house  alone  and  walked 
slowly  across  the  lawn.  Her  step  was  listless  ; 
her  eyes  were  downcast ;  her  cheek  had  lost  its 
brilliant  color.  She  seated  herself  on  a  rustic 
bench  under  a  low -branched  oak,  and  opened 
the  book  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  But  her 
gaze  wandered  absently  from  the  printed  page. 
It  fell  at  length  upon  Marcas,  who  was  moving 
to  and  fro  among  the  flower-beds,  whistling  joy 
ously.  He  carried  a  small  garden  hoe,  and  the 
splint  basket  on  his  arm  was  heaped  with  tufts 
of  violets.  His  face  brightened  as  his  eyes  caught 
those  of  his  young  mistress.  He  took  off  his  hat 
and  came  over  to  where  she  was  sitting. 


A   BAMBOULA  199 

"  Hit's  edzackly  de  weather  ter  transplan', 
Miss  Cecil/'  he  said ;  "  de  groun'  is  dat  meller 
an'  sof — " 

"Marcas,"  she  interrupted,  imperiously,  lean 
ing  her  head  against  the  dark  tree  -  trunk  and 
looking  fixedly  at  him,  "is  it  true  that  you  carry 
poison  in  your  teeth  like  a  rattlesnake  ?" 

" Lawd-a-mussy,  Miss  Cecil!"  he  cried,  fall 
ing  back  a  step  or  two  in  his  amazement.  "I 
dunno.  Yes,  'm.  I  'ain'  never  projecked  none 
wi'  dat  foolishness.  But  my  ole  daddy  useter  say 
so,  an'  I  reckin  a  Affican  prince  oughter  know !" 

Her  eyes  dropped  on  her  book,  and  he  returned 
with  a  bewildered  air  to  his  work.  She  watched 
him  abstractedly  as  he  placed  the  moist  roots 
one  by  one  deftly  in  the  ground,  and  patted  the 
loose  earth  about  them  with  a  large,  open  palm. 

"The  dwarf  -  marigolds  are  nearly  all  gone," 
she  remarked,  after  a  long  silence. 

"  Yes,  'm,"  assented  Marc,  glancing  at  a  trian 
gular  plot  in  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  where  a  few 
small  yellow  flowers  shone  on  their  low  stalks. 

"  S'lome  has  been  gathering  them — "  she  went 
on,  musingly,  and  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 

"  S'lome  do  hone  a'ter  yaller,  dat's  a  fac' !"  he 
commented,  with  a  pleased  laugh. 

" — for  Mr.  Underwood,"  she  concluded,  in  a 
monotonous  tone. 

The  negro  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  A  sombre 
fire  shot  into  his  eyes.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
silently  looking  down  at  her.  Then  he  dropped 
again  to  his  knees  and  drew  the  basket  to  him. 

She  went  away  presently,  leaving  the  book. 


200  A   BAMBOULA 

which  had  slipped  from  her  lap,  lying  face  down 
ward  in  the  yellowing  grass. 

He  watched  her  furtively  until  she  entered 
the  house.  Then,  without  a  glance  at  the  over 
turned  basket  and  neglected  tools,  he  passed 
across  the  grounds,  leaped  the  low  fence,  and 
plunged  into  the  silent  reaches  of  the  pines. 

That  night  when  the  mistress  of  Pine  Needles 
came  down  from  her  own  room,  whither,  under 
pretext  of  a  headache,  she  had  withdrawn  after 
the  mid-afternoon  country  dinner,  she  found  the 
house  wearing  an  unwonted  air  of  festivity. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  at  last,  Cecil  dear  I"  cried 
Mrs.  Garland,  bustling  into  the  hall  to  meet 
her.  "  Everything  is  waiting  for  you.  I've  ar 
ranged  what  Uncle  Darius  calls  a  speckle-tickle 
for  your  Mr.  Underwood,"  she  added,  dropping 
her  voice. 

She  drew  the  girl  into  the  long  parlor,  whose 
polished  floor  reflected  the  clustered  lights  in  the 
old-fashioned  crystal  chandeliers.  Wax  tapers 
burned  softly  in  the  tall  silver  candelabra  on  the 
mantel ;  roses  were  stuffed  in  the  wide-mouthed 
vases ;  the  furniture  was  pushed  against  the  wall ; 
a  couple  of  quaint  high-backed  chairs  were  placed 
side  by  sicle  in  the  broad  curve  of  the  bow-win 
dow. 

"  You  and  Francis  are  to  sit  here,  like  the  king 
and  queen  in  a  play,"  said  Mrs.  Garland,  gayly. 
"  Don't  lift  an  eyebrow,  Cecil,  pray,  if  you  rec 
ognize  the  contents  of  your  own  armoires  and 
jewel-cases." 

Cecil  sank  into  the  chair  with  a  wan  smile. 


A  BAMBOULA  201 

She  looked  frail  and  almost  ghost-like  in  her 
trailing  white  gown.  Underwood,  who  seemed 
possessed  by  a  sort  of  reckless  gayety,  seated 
himself  beside  her.  He  wore  pinned  upon  the 
lapel  of  his  coat  a  small  yellow  flower. 

There  was  a  moment  of  almost  painful  silence. 
Then  Mrs.  Garland,  leaning  on  the  back  of  her 
cousin's  chair,  touched  a  small  silver  bell.  The 
heavy  portiere  which  draped  the  entrance  to  the 
library  was  pushed  aside,  and  Uncle  Darius,  ar 
rayed  in  an  antiquated  blue  coat  with  brass  but 
tons,  light  trousers,  and  ruffled  shirt-front,  en 
tered  pompously,  fiddle  in  hand,  and  seated 
himself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair.  Mushmelon  Joe, 
Scip,  'Kiah,  Sara-AVetumpka — a  motley  gang  of 
field  hands  and  house  servants — swarmed  in  after 
him.  They  ranged  themselves,  grinning  and 
nudging  each  other,  about  him,  and  began  to 
pat  a  subdued  accompaniment  to  his  music.  At 
a  scarcely  perceptible  signal  from  the  fiddler, 
Lindy  bounced  into  the  room.  A  scarlet  sash 
was  wound  turban  wise  about  her  kinky  head, 
and  an  Oriental  shawl  draped  her  blue  cotton 
skirt.  The  black  arms  and  neck  were  encircled 
with  strings  of  many-colored  beads.  She  looked 
preternaturally  solemn  as  she  dropped  her  arms 
and  began  the  heavy  "hoe-down"  for  which  she 
was  famous  in  the  settlement ;  but  a  broad  grin 
presently  stole  over  her  face ;  her  glistening  eye 
balls  rolled  from  side  to  side  ;  the  perspiration 
streamed  from  her  forehead. 

"Wire  down  de  crack,  nigger,  wire  down  de 
crack  !"  exhorted  Uncle  Darius.  "Pick  up  dem 


202  A.   BAMBOULA 

battlin'  sticks  you  calls  yo'  feet,  gal,  an'  tromp  in 
de  flo' !" 

"She  sho  is  made  de  flat  o'  her  foot  talk  ter 
de  fiddle/'  remarked  Mushmelon  Joe,  as  she  ex 
ecuted  a  last  breathless  whirl,  and  retired  gig 
gling  into  the  admiring  circle  of  clappers. 

The  clear  tinkle  of  the  little  bell  echoed  on 
the  air.  Blue-gum  Marc  appeared  suddenly  in  a 
doorway  that  gave  upon  a  side  gallery,  and,  fold 
ing  his  arms  on  his  breast,  leaned  his  great  bulk 
against  the  frame.  At  the  same  moment  S'lome 
stepped  from  behind  the  portiere. 

An  involuntary  exclamation  burst  from  Un 
derwood.  Cecil  closed  her  eyes,  dazzled  by  the 
wild  and  barbaric  beauty  of  the  tawny  creature 
before  her. 

She   wore    a    short,  close  -  clinging   skirt   and 
sleeveless  bodice  of  pale,  shimmering  yellow  satin ; 
a  scarf  of  silver  gauze  girdled  her  slender  waist, 
and  was  knotted"  below  her  swelling  hips.      Her 
slim  brown  ankles  and  shapely  feet  were  bare. 
Bands   and   coils   of   gold  wreathed  her  naked 
arms;   a  jewelled  chain    clasped  her  throat;    a 
glittering    butterfly,   with   quivering    outspread 
wings,  was  set  in  the  crinkly  mass  of  black  hair 
above  her  forehead.      Her  eyelids  were   down 
cast,  their  long  fringes  sweeping  her  bronze-like 
cheeks.     A  curious  light,  defiant  and  disdainful, 
played  over  her  face  as  she  stood  motionless,  with 
her  arms  hanging  loosely  at  her  sides,  while  Uncle 
Darius  played  the  first  bars  of  the  bamboula  which 
had  been  brought  by  Marcas's  father  from  the 
heart  of  Africa. 


A   BAMBOULA  203 

The  music  was  low  and  monotonous — a  few 
constantly  recurring  notes,  which  at  first  vexed 
the  ear,  and  then  set  the  blood  on  fire. 

The  girl  hardly  appeared  to  move ;  there  was 
ii  languid  swaying  of  the  hips  from  side  to  side, 
and  an  almost  imperceptible  yet  rhythmic  stir  of 
the  feet.  But  as  the  music  gradually  quickened 
its  time,  a  thrill  seemed  to  pass  along  her  sinuous 
limbs,  and  a  subtle  passion  pervaded  her  move 
ments  ;  her  arms  were  tossed  voluptuously  above 
her  head;  her  breast  heaved;  a  seductive  fire 
burned  in  her  half-closed  amber  eyes ;  the  sound 
of  her  light  feet  on  the  floor  resembled  the  whir 
of  wings. 

The  negroes,  huddled  mute  and  breathless 
against  the  wall,  gazed  at  her  with  wide,  fasci 
nated  eyes.  Suddenly,  as  if  moved  by  some  mys 
terious  and  irresistible  impulse,  they  rushed  for 
ward  and  closed  in  a  circle  around  the  flashing 
figure,  whirling  about  her  with  strange  evolu 
tions  and  savage  cries. 

...  A  powerful,  penetrating  odor  thickened 
the  air.  .  .  . 

Underwood  had  started  from  his  seat ;  he  stood 
as  if  transfixed,  breathing  heavily,  his  arms  un 
consciously  extended,  his  eyes  aflame,  and  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  swollen  almost  to  bursting. 
Marcas,  curiously  impassive  in  the  doorway,  kept 
his  gaze  fixed  steadily,  not  upon  the  dancer,  but 
upon  his  young  mistress,  who  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  faint  and  dizzy,  the  rose-tint  on  her  cheek 
fading  to  a  death-like  pallor. 

The   movement  of   the  bamboula   became  by 


204  A   BAMBOULA 

degrees  less  rapid;  the  panting  circle  opened 
and  fell  back.  S'lome  paused,  and  stretched  her 
arms  slowly  upward  with  the  supple  grace  of  a 
young  panther.  She  looked  full  at  Underwood, 
and  her  lips  parted  in  an  exultant  smile. 

The  blood  surged  into  Miss  Berkeley's  white 
cheeks  ;  she  lifted  her  head  haughtily ;  her  nos 
trils  quivered  ;  her  eyes  met  those  of  Marcas  for 
an  instant,  then  rested,  flashing,  upon  S'lome, 
decked  for  triumph,  as  it  were,  in  her  own  hered 
itary  jewels. 

With  a  roar  like  that  of  a  wild  beast,  Marcas 
leaped  across  the  room.  His  hand  fell  with  a 
vise-like  grasp  upon  the  gleaming  shoulder  of  the 
quadroon ;  he  stooped  with  a  second  ferocious  cry, 
and  buried  his  teeth  deep  in  the  smooth  flesh  of  the 
rounded  arm.  A  single  agonizing  shriek  pierced 
the  sudden  stillness ;  before  it  had  ended  he  had 
caught  the  slight  form  in  one  hand,  and  bearing 
her  high  above  his  head  he  bounded  through  the 
open  door  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Underwood,  heedless  of  the  terrified  confu 
sion  and  wild  clamor  which  reigned  around,  was 
springing  after  him,  when  he  felt  a  hand  upon 
his  arm.  "For  Heaven's  sake  come  and  help 
me,  Francis,"  said  Mrs.  Garland ;  "  Cecil  has 
fainted  I" 


III 

The  next  afternoon  Miss  Berkeley  passed 
through  a  small  gate  into  the  pine  woods  which 
stretched  away  to  the  south,  forming  a  part  of 


A   BAMBOULA  205 

her  own  domain.  She  walked  slowly  along  the 
well-worn  path,  halting  now  and  again  with  an 
air  of  indecision.  Once  she  stooped  mechanically 
and  plucked  a  yellow  daisy  which  grew  in  a  drift 
of  warm  brown  pine-needles,  but  cast  it  from  her 
with  a  gesture  of  loathing.  Her  black  garments 
gave  her  an  appearance  of  uncommon  height. 
Her  face  was  livid,  her  lips  compressed,  her  dark 
eyes  dull  and  suffering.  She  turned  at  length 
into  the  narrow  lane  which  led  to  the  negro  set 
tlement.  As  she  drew  near  the  outermost  cabin 
she  saw  Underwood  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a 
scrubby  pine  that  overhung  the  picket -fence. 
Aunt  Peggy,  the  mistress  of  the  cabin,  was  lean 
ing  over  the  low  gate ;  her  arms  were  uplifted, 
as  if  in  entreaty  or  adjuration. 

He  started  at  sight  of  the  approaching  figure, 
and  walked  rapidly  forward.  He  had  a  white 
flower  in  his  hand.  His  face  was  turned  away, 
and  for  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  about 
to  pass  his  betrothed  without  a  greeting.  But 
as  she  stepped  aside  he  paused,  and  said,  ab 
ruptly  : 

"I  am  going  away,  Cecil.  I  —  I  think  it  is 
best."  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  althea  blos 
som  which  he  was  twirling  awkwardly  in  his  fin 
gers. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  she  returned,  coldly; 
"it  is  best." 

She  left  him  without  another  word.  He  lin 
gered  a  moment,  gazing  irresolutely  after  her, 
then  struck  into  the  beaten  road  that  led  to  the 
railway  station. 


206  A   BAMBOULA 

Aunt  Peggy  had  come  out  of  the  gate.  "  Miss 
Cecil,  honey/'  she  said,  hoarsely,  "dis  am'  no 
place  fer  de  likes  o'  you  !  Go  back  ter  de  house, 
chile — go  back  I"  she  entreated.  "  Mist'  Onder- 
wood  yander  he's  been  here,  off  an'  on,  'inos'  all 
day.  But  I  am'  dassen  ter  lef  him  go  inter  de 
cabin.  I  ax  him  fer  Gawd's  sake  ef  he  ain'  mek 
enough  trebble  a'ready  'd'out  showin'  hisself 
wher'  Blue-gum  Marc  kin  see  him.  He  say  he 
wan'  ter  see  S'lome !  My  Gawd  !  I  gin  him  a 
althy  flower  fum  offin  de  corpse,  an'  saunt  him 
erway.  Doan  go  in  de  cabin,  Miss  Cecil  !"  she 
panted,  following  her  mistress  into  the  little  door- 
yard,  and  laying  hold  of  the  folds  of  her  gown. 
"  Blue-gum  Marc  is  in  de  cabin.  He  ain'  never 
lef  de  gal  sence  he  pizen  her.  Nobody  dassen 
ter  go  er-nigh  him  'cep'n'  me,  an'  he  ain'  lef  me 
tech  her,  not  even  ter  put  on  de  grave-close.  He 
say  he  gwine  ter  kill  the  pusson  dat  steps  inside 
dat  cabin  do'.  De  mo'ners  is  'bleedge'  ter  mo'n 
in  Lindy's  cabin  yander.  Fer  Gawd's  sake,  Miss 
Cecil— fer  Gawd's— 

Cecil  put  the  old  woman  gently  aside  and 
pushed  open  the  cabin  door.  The  little  room 
had  been  hastily  put  in  order.  The  large  four- 
posted  bed  was  spread  with  white  ;  the  bare  floor 
was  swept  clean  ;  the  pine  table,  piled  with  blue- 
rimmed  dishes,  was  placed  in  the  chimney-cor 
ner.  Uncle  Darius's  fiddle  hung  in  its  accus 
tomed  place  on  the  wall,  with  his  Sunday  coat 
on  a  nail  beneath  it.  The  level  rays  of  a  setting 
sun  came  in  at  the  single  window  ;  alight  breeze 
moved  the  white  curtains  to  and  fro. 


A    BAMBOULA 


207 


The  dead  girl  was  lying  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  on  a  rude  bier,  her  head  resting  011  a  pillow. 
She  was  still  clad  in  the  fantastic  costume  in 
which  she  had  danced  the  night  before  ;  the  gold 
bands  and  jewelled  ornaments  sparkled  in  the  red 
light  which  streamed  over  her.  Her  eyes  were 
closed  ;  their  silken  lashes  made  a  black  line 
against  the  dusky  pallor  of  her  cheeks.  Her  lips 
were  slightly  parted,  and  an  inscrutable  smile 
seemed  to  hover  about  their  corners.  One  arm 
was  laid  across  her  breast,  a  fold  of  silver  gauze 
was  drawn  over  the  purpling  wound  just  below 
the  shoulder  ;  the  other  arm  hung  to  the  floor, 
the  closed  hand  grasping  the  filigree  chain  which 
she  had  torn,  in  the  death  agony,  from  her  neck. 
A  few  white  altheas  were  scattered  on  her  bosom, 
and  some  sprigs  of  lavender  and  rue  were  lying  on 
the  rough  boards  about  her  bare  feet  and  ankles. 
A  short,  large-handled,  keen-bladed  knife  was  laid 
across  the  pillow  above  her  head.  She  looked 
like  a  savage  queen  asleep  on  her  primitive 
couch. 

Marcas  sat  by  the  head  of  the  bier.  His  body 
was  erect  and  rigid  ;  his  powerful  hands  rested 
on  his  knees ;  his  feet  were  drawn  close  together ; 
his  head  was  turned  towards  the  dead  girl,  show 
ing  his  curiously  fine  profile.  It  was  the  atti 
tude  and  pose  of  the  Pharaoh  of  the  Egyptian 
monuments. 

He  did  not  move  as  Cecil  entered  the  room. 
She  stood  for  a  second  as  motionless  as  the  dead 
and  the  watcher  of  the  dead,  with  her  hands 
clasped  before  her,  the  fingers  interlocked.  Then 


208  A   BAMBOULA 

she  stumbled  across  the  floor,  and  halted  at  the 
foot  of  the  bier. 

The  buzzing  of  some  bees  about  the  pots  of 
flowering  moss  on  the  window  -  sill  filled  the 
silence  with  a  low,,  droning  sound.  The  wail  of 
the  mourners  in  Lindy's  cabin  came  in  fitfully, 
softened  by  the  distance. 

"Miss  Cecil," he  said,  presently,  without  turn 
ing  his  head  or  lifting  his  heavy  eyelids,  "I  jes' 
waited  fer  de  tu'n  o'  yo'  eye,  'caze  I  didn'  know 
which  you  was  gwine  ter  p'int  out  fust — S'lome 
or  Mm.  De  knife  is  fer  him,  soon  ez  de  gal  is 
onder  groun'." 

Cecil  shuddered  and  put  out  her  hands. 

"Doan  fret,  Miss  Cecil/'  he  went  on,  in  the 
same  sombre  tone.  "No  stranger  ain' gwine  ter 
turn  de  rosy  cheek  o'  Colonel  Berkeley's  chile 
white  ez  cotton — an'  live  !  Not  whilse  de  blood 
o'  de  ole  Affican  prince  is  hot  in  de  vein  o'  his 
son  !"  His  voice  shook  with  sudden  rage  as  he 
concluded ;  his  breast  rose  and  fell  spasmodically. 
When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  almost  in  a  whisper, 
strangely  soft  and  musical  :  "S'lome  !  S'lome! 
I  doan  'member  de  time,  Miss  Cecil,  when  I  'ain' 
been  lovin'  S'lome  !  Fum  de  day  when  she  wa'n't 
ez  high  ez  de  pretty-by-nights  in  Ann'  Peggy's 
do'-yard  I  is  had  my  heart  sot  on  her.  .  .  .  She 
was  swif  ez  a  fiel'-lark,  Miss  Cecil,  an'  her  eyes 
is  ez  sof  ez  de  eyes  of  a  dove  when  she  look  at 
me  an'  say  she  ain'  gwine  ter  love  nobody  'cep'n' 
me  ez  long  ez  she  is  'bove  de  groun'.  .  .  .  She  is 
de  onlies'  one  in  de  settlemint  dat  ain'  'feard 
o'  de  pizen  in  de  gum  o'  Blue-gum  Marc  .  .  . 


A  BAMBOULA  209 

dat's   de   fam'ly  blood    in    her   .   .  .    de  Berke 
ley  blood—" 

Cecil  Berkeley  threw  up  her  arms  convulsively 
and  sank  to  her  knees  ;  her  forehead  pressed  the 
feet  of  the  dead  girl,  and  she  shivered  as  if  the 
chill  of  death  had  passed  from  them  into  her 
own  benumbed  veins. 


MR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  GISH'S  BALL 


"I'LL do  it !  I'll  do  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Gish, 
aloud.  But  the  mere  thought  of  what  he  was 
about  to  do  made  him  so  light-headed  and  faint 
that  he  had  to  cling  for  support  to  the  spear-like 
points  of  the  low  iron  fence  ;  the  music  took  on 
a  confused,  far-away  sound  ;  the  forms  of  the 
dancers  gliding  past  the  long,  open  windows  be 
came  hazy  and  indistinct,  as  if  suddenly  envel 
oped  in  mist.  He  came  to  himself  in  a  spasm  of 
fright  lest  the  policeman  leaning  idly  against  the 
gate,  or  the  liveried  coachmen  lolling  on  the  box- 
seats  of  the  waiting  carriages,  might  have  heard 
his  outburst.  Apparently  his  indiscretion  had 
passed  unnoticed,  and  he  took  heart  to  repeat 
more  emphatically  still,  but  in  an  inaudible  whis 
per,  "As  sure  as  my  name  is  Benjamin  Franklin 
Gish,  I'll  do  it  !" 

It  was  a  soft  Southern  winter  night.  The 
large,  many-galleried  residence  in  front  of  which 
he  stood  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  Within,  the 
dancers  were  weaving  intricate  and  symmetrical 
figures  to  the  airy  music  of  a  band  stationed  be 
hind  a  screen  of  palms ;  women  in  trailing  robes 


MR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL  211 

and  men  in  faultless  evening  dress  loitered  in 
groups  about  the  wide,  old-fashioned  halls,  and 
sauntered  up  and  down  the  lantern-hung  veran 
das  ;  a  few  couples  had  ventured  down  into  the 
large  garden,  where  Duchesse  roses  bloomed  in 
great  dewy  clusters,  and  straggling  sprays  of 
sweet -olive  scented  the  air.  A  tall  girl  in  a 
fluffy  pink  gown  even  strayed  along  the  flower- 
bordered  walk  by  the  fence ;  she  leaned  lightly 
upon  the  arm  of  her  companion  ;  her  round,  bare 
shoulder  brushed  Mr.  Gish's  worn  coat-sleeve  in 
passing. 

The  little  man  on  the  banquette  heaved  a  pro 
found  sigh.  It  was  a  sigh  of  unutterable  long 
ing. 

Mr.  Gish  —  christened  Benjamin  Franklin, 
though  his  employers  called  him  Gish,  his  fel 
low-clerks  "B.  F.,"  and  his  family  Benjy  (they 
even  wrote  it  Bengie) — was  an  assistant  book 
keeper  in  the  office  of  T.  F.  Haley  &  Co.,  cot 
ton-buyers.  He  was  short,  fat,  and  quite  bald, 
being  in  fact  a  bachelor  nearing  his  fifties.  He 
had  been  brought  up  (by  his  mother,  relict  of  the 
late  Samuel  Gish,  Esq.)  to  regard  dancing  as  a 
frivolous,  not  to  say  sinful,  amusement.  Nat 
urally  timid  and  retiring,  he  had  from  his  boy 
hood  avoided  all  gatherings  which  included  the 
element  that,  with  bashful,  antiquated  courtesy, 
he  called  "  the  fair  sex."  Two  or  three  times, 
indeed,  in  earlier  years,  in  company  with  his 
sisters,  the  six  Misses  Gish,  he  had  attended  a 
church  sociable  or  a  conversation  party.  But  his 
sufferings  on  these  occasions  had  been  so  great 


212  MR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL 

that  he  had  mildly  but  firmly  declined  to  expose 
himself  to  a  repetition  of  them.  Year  in  and 
year  out,,  always  at  the  same  hour  of  the  morn 
ing,  he  walked  down  to  the  office  of  Haley  & 
Co.,  where  he  worked  methodically  over  his  ledg 
ers  until  business  hours  were  over,  when  he  went 
home — in  a  street-car — to  his  late  dinner.  Once 
a  week,  on  Monday  evenings,  he  escorted  his 
mother  and  "the  girls"  to  prayer-meeting.  On 
Sundays  he  sat  with  the  oldest  Miss  Gish  in  the 
choir.  He  did  not  sing ;  the  habit  dated  from 
the  time  when— a  boy  in  roundabouts — he  blew 
the  bellows  of  the  long-discarded  wind-organ. 
The  neighbors  were  unanimous  in  the  opinion 
that  Mr.  Benjy  was  an  exemplary  son,  a  good 
brother,  and  a  consistent  church-member. 

Latterly,  however,  Mr.  Gish's  feelings  had  un 
dergone  a  mysterious  change.  He  could  not 
himself  have  explained  the  phenomenon,  but  he 
could  lay  his  finger,  as  he  often  declared  to  him 
self,  upon  the  exact  moment  when  the  idea  first 
took  hold  of  him.  They  were  coming  home  from 
Monday-night  prayer-meeting;  his  mother  was 
on  his  arm ;  the  girls  trailed  along  behind,  two 
and  two.  A  light  streamed  out  from  the  wide- 
open  windows  of  a  house  set  well  back  from  the 
street  and  embowered  in  roses  ;  a  rhythmic  strain 
of  waltz  music  pulsated  on  the  air ;  couples  em 
bracing  each  other  moved  down  the  long  room, 
floating,  floating,  as  if  borne  on  unseen  wings. 
It  was  but  a  flash,  a  momentary  glance;  "but 
that  done  it,"  groaned  Mr.  Gish,  inwardly,  "and 
I've  never  been  the  same  man  since."  He  con- 


MR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL  213 

tinned  to  blush  and  tremble  if  by  chance  he  en 
countered  one  of  the  fair  sex.  Bnt  a  new  and 
strange  fever  burned  in  his  veins.  An  extraor 
dinary  passion  haunted  him  day  and  night.  The 
truth  is,  Mr.  Gish  was  beset  with  an  overwhelm 
ing  desire  to  dance.  His  mother,  had  she  been 
aware  of  this  shameless  ambition  of  her  only  son, 
would  no  doubt  have  declared  that  Benjy  was 
being  tempted  of  the  devil.  But  she  did  not 
know.  He  kept  it  to  himself,  gloating  over  it  in 
secret ;  taking  it  out,  so  to  speak,  when  he  was 
alone,  and  turning  it  over  and  over  in  his  mind, 
stealthily,  as  a  girl  counts  her  trinkets  and  shoves 
them  hurriedly  back  into  the  box  when  she  hears 
some  one  coming.  Standing  at  his  high  .desk 
in  the  office  of  Haley  &  Co.,  his  mild  blue  eyes 
fixed  on  the  columns  of  figures,  his  finger  slip 
ping  mechanically  from  line  to  line,  his  heart 
would  give  a  sudden  thump,  and  a  vision  would 
swim  before  his  eyes — a  marvel  of  radiant  beings 
swaying,  wheeling,  advancing,  retreating,  wind 
ing  in  and  out  in  squares  and  rings  and  loops,  to 
the  music  of  unheard  melodies  ! 

For  nearly  two  years  past  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  loiter  at  night  about  the  great  mansions 
in  the  Garden  District ;  the  echo  of  dance  music 
from  any  point  whatsoever  drew  him  as  a  magnet 
draws  the  needle,  from  the  tall,  narrow  tenement- 
house  on  a  side  street  where  the  Gishes  lived,  to 
stately  avenues,  where  he  leaned  for  hours,  as  he 
was  now  doing,  jostled  by  a  rabble  of  small  boys, 
elbowed  by  unkempt  idlers,  and  gazed  into  open 
windows,  or  stood  out  in  the  middle  of  the  street 


214  MR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN   GISIl's  BALL 

watching  the  moving  shadows  on  drawn  shades. 
Now,  at  last,  a  resolution  which  had  been  slowly 
gathering  in  his  brain  for  many  weeks  had  taken 
definite  shape.  "  Yes  1  I'll  do  it,"  he  repeated  a 
third  time,  as  he  turned  away  and  hurried  home 
ward  ;  for  he  was  supposed  at  such  times  to  be 
overworked  by  the  sordid  and  avaricious  firm 
of  Haley  &  Co. — for  shame,  Benjy  ! — and  his 
mother  always  sat  up  until  he  came  in. 

A  day  or  two  later  a  good-humored,  bustling 
crowd  thronged  the  streets,  for  the  holiday-lov 
ing  old  town  was  making  ready  for  one  of  its 
great  annual  holidays.  Mr.  Gish  came  out  of 
the  office  about  noon  and  walked  down  towards 
Canal  Street.  His  round,  clean  -  shaven  face 
wore  an  unwonted  look  of  excitement.  He 
seemed  to  be  searching,  in  a  covert  sort  of  way, 
for  some  one  or  some  thing.  He  paused  at  the 
street  corners,  casting  hurried  glances  in  either 
direction ;  once  he  made  a  few  steps  towards  a 
knot;  of  boys  gathered  in  front  of  a  peanut-stand, 
but  he  changed  his  mind,  a  pink  flush  mounting 
to  his  cheeks  as  he  moved  hastily  on. 

His  conference,  far  down  in  the  French  quar 
ter,  with  a  slim,  dark,  foreign-looking  gentle 
man  who  wore  immense  hoops  of  gold  in  his 
ears,  and  whose  shoulders  went  up  and  down  in 
incessant  shrugs,  was  an  animated  one.  Mr. 
Gish  talked  a  good  deal,  and  seemed  to  be  giving 
minute  directions.  The  foreign-looking  gen 
tleman  listened  attentively,  and  nodded  under- 
standingly  from  time  to  time.  Presently  they 
walked  together,  threading  the  crowd,  across 


MR.  BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL  215 

Canal  Street,  and  a  few  squares  up  Carondelet. 
From  the  opposite  sidewalk  Mr.  Gish  pointed 
out  the  office  of  his  employers.  There  was  a 
quick  movement  from  hand  to  hand,  and  they 
separated.  "  All-a  rright-a  I"  said  the  gentle 
man,  showing  his  beautiful  white  teeth.  Around 
the  corner  he  stopped  to  examine  the  crisp  bill ; 
he  grinned,  and  puckered  his  lips  into  a  whistle , . 
slapping  his  knee.  The  transaction  was  evi 
dently  a  business  one,  and  the  shabby  little  ac 
countant  had  not  been  niggardly. 

The  next  day  was  the  eve  of  the  festival. 
"Mr.  Haley,"  said  Mr.  Gish,  looking  up  from 
his  books  as  the  senior  partner  was  about  quitting 
the  office,  "I — I  think,  sir,  I  will  come  back  to 
night  and  finish  this  piece  of  work." 

"Very  well,  Gish,"  said  Mr.  Haley,  carelessly, 
from  the  doorway.  "It  is  of  no  great  impor 
tance  ;  you  can  let  it  stand  over  if  you  like." 

"You'd  better  come  along  and  have  a  blow 
out  with  the  boys,  B.  F.,"  remarked  Bob  Haight, 
shaking  himself  into  his  overcoat  and  watching 
for  the  look  of  horror  which  these  unseemly 
suggestions  always  brought  into  that  modest 
gentleman's  face. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Haight,"  Mr.  Gish 
replied,  nervously,  the  blood  rushing  into  his 
cheeks  ;  "I — I  have  made  other  arrangements." 

Haight  stared  at  him  a  moment  in  amazement. 
"  Blest  if  I  don't  believe  old  B.  F.  is  sowing  some 
oats  on  his  own  account !"  he  muttered  to  him 
self.  But  he  forbore  any  comment. 

The  assistant  bookkeeper  left  the  office  a  little 


216  MR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN  GISIl'S  BALL 

late.  He  walked  rapidly  up  the  street  some  four 
or  five  blocks  and  turned  to  the  right,  plunging, 
a  few  doors  from  the  corner,  into  a  small,  dingy 
shop,  whence  a  minute  later  he  reappeared,  car 
rying  under  his  arm  a  good-sized  bundle  done  up 
in  thick  brown  paper. 

In  the  crowded  car  he  held  the  bundle  care 
fully  on  his  knees ;  but  when  he  alighted  he 
hugged  it  to  his  breast,  folding  his  overcoat 
closely  about  it,  and  stole  along  the  street,  de 
voutly  hoping  to  gain  his  own  room  without 
being  seen.  It  was  twilight  when  he  reached  the 
gate  and  slipped  across  Miss  Charlotte's  trim 
little  flower-garden  to  the  front  door.  He  let 
himself  in  as  softly  as  he  could  with  his  latch 
key.  Fortunately  the  narrow  hall  was  dark  and 
deserted.  He  bolted  up  the  stair,  his  heart  beat 
ing  like  a  trip-hammer,  his  knees  trembling  be 
neath  him.  Inside  the  small  hall  room  where  he 
slept  he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  But  the 
troubled  look  returned  to  his  face  as  he  cast 
about  for  a  safe  hiding-place  for  the  brown-paper 
package.  He  had  at  first  thought  of  slipping  it 
between  the  mattresses  of  his  bed,  but  he  drew 
back  in  sudden  terror.  Sister  Mary-Lou  would 
certainly  sniff  it  out  when  she  came  up  to  take 
off  the  ruffled  day  pillows  and  turn  down  the 
covers.  He  dropped  it  into  the  flat  clothes-bas 
ket  and  threw  some  soiled  linen  carelessly  over 
it ;  it  bulged  frightfully,  and  Mary-Lou's  eyes 
were  so  keen  !  The  rickety  old  armoire,  which 
contained,  besides  his  own  well-worn  best  coat, 
sundry  articles  belonging  to  the  girls,  was  not  to 


MR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISIl'S   BALL  217 

be  thought  of.  After  much  hesitation,  and  with 
many  qualms,  he  laid  the  bundle  in  the  top 
drawer  of  the  high  bureau,  and — for  the  first 
time  in  his  life — turned  the  key  in  the  lock  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  went  guiltily 
down  to  dinner. 

Mrs.  Gish  and  the  six  Misses  Gish  were  already 
at  table.  The  Misses  Gish,  with  the  exception 
of  Miss  Martha,  the  youngest,  just  turned  of 
thirty-nine,  all  "took  after"  their  mother,  who 
was  tall  and  spare,  and  very  brisk  and  alert  in 
spite  of  her  seventy-five  years.  Miss  Martha  was 
short  and  plump,  like  her  brother,  with  a  round, 
fresh  face  and  a  dimpled  chin.  Time  was  when 
Benjamin  Franklin  came,  or  believed  he  came, 
fourth  in  due  order  of  age  in  the  family  circle. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  names  of  Caroline,  Amelia, 
and  Mary-Lou  preceded  his  own  in  the  list  re 
corded  on  the  yellowed  register  of  the  big  fam 
ily  Bible,  while  those  of  Jane,  Charlotte,  and 
Martha  came  after.  But,  by  some  occult  calcu 
lation  on  their  part,  he  had  found  himself  sud 
denly,  half  a  score  of  years  ago,  older  than  Mary- 
Lou  and  Amelia.  A  year  or  two  later  he  had 
stepped  above  Charlotte  herself,  and  now  bore 
himself  as  became  the  first-born  and  the  head  of 
the  house.  This,  however,  by  the  way. 

"Benjy,"said  his  mother,  passing  him  a  plate 
of  thin  soup,  "  you  are  late.  It  is  almost  time 
for  the  first  bell." 

Sure  enough  !  it  was  Monday  night  ! 

Benjy  turned  scarlet.  .  "I'm  s-sorry,"  he 
mumbled,  with  his  face  in  the  napkin,  (( but 


218  MR.    BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL 

I  have  to  go  back  to  the  office — a  little  busi 
ness — " 

Mrs.  Gish  shook  her  head  mournfully.  She 
had  her  opinion  of  the  hardened  and  inhuman 
taskmasters  who  were  "  working  the  life"  out  of 
Benjy. 

"1  am  sure/'  said  Miss  Martha,  rebellious!}', 
pushing  away  her  plate,  "/  don't  pity  Benjy! 
I'd  a  great  deal  rather  add  up  figures  than  go  to 
prayer-meeting  !  I  hate  prayer-meeting." 

A  shiver  of  horror  went  around  the  table.  Mrs. 
Gish  dropped  her  knife  and  fork  and  stared 
aghast  at  Miss  Martha,  who  threw  up  her  head 
defiantly,  then  dropped  it  and  burst  into  tears. 

Benjamin  Franklin  did  not  hear  the  storm  of 
reproach  which  followed.  A  wild  scheme  re 
volved  in  his  brain  as  he  gazed  absently  at  the 
culprit. 

"  I  did  not  know  Martha  was  so — so  nice  !"  he 
murmured.  "I'll  ask  her  to  go  with  me.  But 
no,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "I 
could  never  manage  it.  Poor  Martha  !" 

He  watched  them  trooping  oil  to  prayer-meet 
ing,  a  forlorn  and  straggling  procession,  with  the 
penitent  Miss  Martha  bringing  up  the  rear.  A 
slight  pang  of  remorse  stirred  within  him,  but 
he  stiffened  himself  against  it.  Indeed,  no 
sooner  were  they  out  of  sight  than  he  went 
boldly  out  into  Miss  Charlotte's  flower-garden 
and  began  cutting  her  cherished  roses  with  his 
pocket-knife.  He  looked  uneasily  over  his 
shoulder  during  the  operation,  it  is  true ;  he 
even  had  a  prophetic  vision  of  Delphy,  the  fat 


MR.    BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  GISH'S  BALL  219 

black  cook,  undergoing  suspicion,  arraignment, 
perhaps  dismissal,  on  account  of  the  crime  he  was 
committing.  But  he  did  not  desist  until  he  had 
a  generous  handful  of  dewy,  long-stemmed  buds. 
To  these  he  added  cluster  after  cluster  of  scarlet 
and  pink  geranium  blossoms,  snipped  recklessly 
from  Miss  Charlotte's  well-trimmed  borders. 

He  hurried  up  to  his  room,  closing  and  locking 
the  door  behind  him.  When  he  had  lighted  the 
smoky  lamp,  he  took  the  bundle  from  the  drawer 
and  spread  its  contents  on  the  bed.  It  was  an 
evening  suit  of  black  cloth — coat,  vest,  and  trou 
sers.  A  smaller  parcel  within  contained  a  pair 
of  dancing-pumps,  a  white  silk  handkerchief,  a 
white  tie,  and  a  small  round  cap. 

Mr.  Gish  contemplated  these  things  for  a  mo 
ment  in  abstracted  silence.  Then,  with  a  sort  of 
feverish  haste,  he  began  to  put  them  on. 

The  low-cut  vest  gave  him  a  queerish  sensa 
tion  ;  the  coat  made  him  blush.  He  pulled  un 
easily  at  the  claw-hammer  tails,  with  much  the 
same  feeling  that  a  ballet-girl  may  be  supposed 
to  have  when  she  dons  her  short  skirts  for  the 
first  time.  But,  twisting  and  squirming  in  front 
of  the  tilted  looking-glass,  with  the  lamp  on  the 
floor,  he  passed  abruptly  from  gloom  and  anxiety 
to  rapture.  The  coat  wrinkled  between  the  shoul 
ders,  and  the  gentleman  who  had  hired  the  suit 
last  had  bagged  the  trousers  at  the  knee.  These, 
however,  were  but  trifles.  Mr.  Gish  had  under 
gone  a  transformation  !  He  swelled  with  pride 
as  he  surveyed  himself  from  head  to  foot,  and 
from  foot  to  head  again. 


220  MR.   BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN   GISH'S  BALL 

He  hesitated  a  moment  before  he  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  put  on  the  little  silk  cap,  but  he  ended 
by  setting  it  rather  jauntily  on  his  bald  head. 
He  got  gingerly  into  his  light  overcoat,  and  drew 
on  his  overshoes— a  precaution  he  never  neglected 
in  any  kind  of  weather — and  tiptoed  out,  carry 
ing  the  flowers  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  newspaper. 

He  left  the  car  a  few  blocks  above  the  office  of 
Haley  &  Co.,  and  walked  down,  keeping  well  in 
the  shadow  of  the  tall  buildings. 

There  were  noise  and  bustle  enough  a  stone's- 
throw  away ;  here  the  street  was  quite  deserted. 
But  a  woman  was  sitting  on  the  lowest  step  of 
the  long,  dark  stairway  that  led  up  to  the  office. 
She  had  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  a  little  bundle 
of  rags  with  its  head  on  her  knees  was  sobbing  in 
its  sleep. 

"  I  can  walk  home,"  muttered  Mr.  Gisli.  He 
dropped  his  only  remaining  coin  in  her  lap,  and 
groped  his  way  up  the  stair. 

He  unlocked  the  door,  and  refastened  it  on  the 
inside.  When  he  had  removed  his  overcoat  and 
overshoes,  he  lighted  the  gas,  every  jet  of  it,  turn 
ing  up  each  tongue  of  yellow  flame  as  high  as 
possible.  He  pushed  the  chairs  and  office  stools 
against  the  wall,  and  thrust  the  roses  into  a  dusty 
glass  that  stood  on  the  head  bookkeeper's  desk. 
Finally  he  threw  open  the  three  large  windows 
that  looked  down  upon  the  street.  Then  he 
seated  himself  gravely  in  Mr.  Haley's  revolving 
arm-chair  and  waited. 

The  hands  of  the  small  clock  over  his  own  desk 
pointed  to  a  quarter  of  nine. 


HE   FACED    ABOUT    WITH    A    LOW    13OW 


MR.   BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL  221 

The  minute-hand  moved  slowly.  The  big  bell 
in  a  church  steeple  not  far  away  boomed  nine. 

Mr.  Gish  began  to  fidget.  A  cold  perspiration 
gathered  on  his  forehead.  ' '  Can  it  be  possible/' 
he  whispered,  with  his  eyes  glued  to  the  clock, 
"that  there  has  been  a  mistake  ?" 

The  disappointment  was  too  great.  He  cov 
ered  his  face  with  his  pudgy  hands  and  groaned. 
Half-past  nine.  Ten.  He  got  up  slowly  and  be 
gan  to  turn  out  the  lights,  one  by  one. 

Suddenly  his  face  cleared  ;  a  hand-organ  sound 
ed  in  the  street  below.  The  preliminary  notes  of 
"The  Maiden's  Prayer"  floated  up  on  the  night 
wind,  which  came  in  a  little  chill  through  the  wide 
windows.  Mr.  Gish  hastily  relighted  the  gas,  and, 
crossing  to  the  farther  side  of  the  room,  he  faced 
about  with  a  low  bow,  smiling  and  extending  his 
hand. 

And  then,  he  danced  ! 

The  repertory  of  the  somewhat  rickety  organ 
consisted  of  five  " tunes," including  "The  Maid 
en's  Prayer."  The  others  were  "  The  Evergreen 
Waltz,"  "The  Tower  Song,"  from  Trovatore, 
"Monastery  Bells,"  and  "Carry  Me  Back  to  Ole 
Virgimiy."  To  all  of  these,  and  to  each  one  of 
them  over  and  over,  did  Benjamin  Franklin  Gish 
dance.  He  glided,  he  leaped,  he  bounded,  he 
swung  corners,  he  chassed,  he  fanned  an  imagina 
ry  partner,  he  ogled  her  as  he  pranced  back  and 
forth  with  her,  he  gazed  down  at  her  with  a  bliss 
ful  smile  as  he  revolved  slowly  and  laboriously 
with  her  in  a  supposed  waltz. 

At  the  conclusion  of  each  set  of  tunes  he  walked 


222  MR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN   GISH'S  BALL 

about,  red  and  panting,  but  delicately  mindful  of 
the  (imaginary)  tall  girl  in  a  fluffy  pink  gown  whose 
hand  rested  on  his  arm. 

Once  there  was  an  abrupt  break  in  the  music. 
Mr.  Gish  looked  at  the  clock,  and  then  ran  to  the 
window,  dizzy  with  apprehension.  A  spirited  di 
alogue  was  going  on  between  the  organ-grinder  in 
the  street  below  and  an  occupant  of  one  of  the 
rooms  of  the  lofty  building  across  the  way.  A 
head  was  thrust  out  of  an  upper  window  and  a 
string  of  impotent  missiles  whizzed  downward. 
But  the  sash  presently  dropped,  and  the  cheery 
notes  of  "  Carry  Me  Back  "  rang  once  more  on  the 
air. 

Mr.  Gish  was  no  longer  young  ;  he  was  fat  and 
short-winded.  As  the  evening  wore  on  he  took 
fewer  steps ;  he  sat  down  between  dances,  mop 
ping  his  face  with  his  handkerchief ;  and  it  must 
be  confessed  that  he  became  at  times  a  little  for 
getful  of  his  partner.  But  when  the  big  bell  struck 
twelve  and  the  music  broke  off  with  a  jerk  in  the 
midst  of  a  strain,  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart. 
He  stared  blankly  about  him,  and  choked  down  a 
mournful  sigh. 

The  ball  was  at  an  end. 

"I  must  contrive  somehow  to  pay  for  the  gas," 
he  muttered,  as  he  turned  off  the  last  jet. 

The  long  tramp  homeward  was  dreary  enough. 
His  feet  were  bruised  and  blistered,  his  knees 
trembled,  his  arms  hung  limp  from  his  shoulders, 
his  back  ached,  his  temples  throbbed,  and  his  eyes 
burned.  But  all  this  was  a  trifle  as  compared  with 
the  state  of  his  mind.  A  moral  reaction  had  set 


AND   THEN   HE   DANCED 


MR.   BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S   BALL  223 

in.  The  thought  of  his  mother  sitting  up  for  him 
hung  on  him  like  a  weight,,  and  he  groaned  out 
right  as  he  approached  the  gate.  He  opened  the 
door  cautiously  and  slipped  in.  His  foot  was  al 
ready  on  the  stair. 

"  Benjy  !"  called  his  mother  from  the  little  sit 
ting-room. 

"  Yes,  fm,"  he  gasped.  The  perspiration  broke 
out  anew  on  his  forehead  as  he  limped  slowly 
down  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Gish  sat  in  a  low  rocking-chair  in  front 
of  the  grate,  where  the  handful  of  coals  had  long 
ago  fallen  to  ashes.  Her  head  and  shoulders  were 
wrapped  in  an  old-fashioned  black-and-white  plaid 
shawl.  Her  slim  old  hands  were  crossed  over  the 
Bible  which  rested  on  her  knees.  When  Benja 
min  Franklin  entered  she  looked  up,  and  began, 
severely,  "Do  you  know,  Benjy,  that  it  is  after 
one  0> — »  But  at  sight  of  his  woe-begone  face 
her  voice  changed.  "Why,  my  son/'  she  cried, 
"what  is  the  matter  ?" 

Benjy  had  no  heart  for  further  concealments. 
He  dropped  on  his  knees  and  hid  his  face  in 
his  mother's  lap,  like  a  boy,  and  there  fairly 
sobbed  out  the  whole  story.  He  went  over 
it  all  with  simple  directness — the  first  fleeting 
vision  of  the  dance,  the  long  evenings  spent  in 
gazing  through  open  windows  at  the  airy  inhab 
itants  of  another  world,  the  growing  desire  to 
taste  this  unknown  and  forbidden  joy,  the  final 
resolution,  the  bargain  with  the  organ-grinder, 
the  hiring  of  the  dress-suit,  even  the  surrepti 
tious  clipping  of  Miss  Charlotte's  roses,  and  then 


224  MR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISH'S  BALL 

the  ball,  the  delight  of  those  untaught  steps  ! 
He  told  it  all,  or  nearly  all.  His  dream  of  the 
tall  girl  in  a  fluffy  pink  gown,  with  red  lips  and 
laughing  eyes,  that  he  kept  to  himself. 

"  Benjamin  Franklin,"  said  Mrs.  Gish,  when 
he  had  finished,  " stand  up." 

He  got  upon  his  feet.  Something  unwonted 
in  his  mother's  voice  penetrated  his  troubled 
senses  and  gave  him  a  curious  thrill. 

"Take  off  your  overcoat,"  she  added,  per 
emptorily,  "and  let  me  look  at  you." 

He  obeyed,  giving  the  tails  of  the  claw-hammer 
a  vigorous  pull  towards  the  front. 

The  old  lady  put  out  a  thin,  blue-veined  hand, 
and  turned  him  slowly  around  and  around. 

"La,  Benjy,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  "how 
han'sorne  you  are !  You  look  exactly  like  your 
pa  did  the  night  me  and  him  stood  up  to  be 
married  !" 

Benjy  stared  at  her  in  blank  amazement.  She 
had  risen  to  her  feet  and  dropped  the  shawl 
from  her  shoulders.  Her  white  old  head  went 
up  proudly  ;  her  sunken  eyes  flashed.  "As  for 
dancin',"  she  cried,  "there  wa'n't  a  lighter  foot 
in  Pike  County  than  Sam  Gish  !  He  could  dance 
all  night  without  losin'  his  breath,  Sam  could ! 
And  when  me  and  him  led  off  together" — she 
paused  to  chuckle  softly — "the  balance  of  the 
girls  and  boys  had  to  stand  back,  I  tell  you  !  La, 
Sam — Benjy,  I  mean — it's  been  a  long  time  since 
I've  heard  a  fiddle  talk.  But  I  believe  in  my 
soul  if  I  was  to  hear  '  Rabbit  in  the  Cotton  Patch/ 
or  f Granny,  does  yo' Dog  Bite?5  I  couldn't  no 


MR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN   GISH'S  BALL  225- 

more  keep  my  foot  off  the  floor  than  I  could 
when  I  was  Polly  Weathers  and  Sam  Gish  was 
holdin'  out  his  hand  !" 

She  laughed  so  gayly  that  Benjy,  whose  heart 
was  wellnigh  bursting  with  relief,  caught  the  in 
fection  and  laughed  too.  The  sound  of  their 
mirth  penetrated  the  thin  partition  and  echoed, 
through  the  next  room,  where  Miss  Charlotte 
and  Miss  Martha  were  sleeping.  Miss  Martha 
turned  upon  her  pillow,  half  awake,  and  a  wistful 
smile  flitted  ghost-like  over  her  round  face. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  seen  you  at  the  ball,  Benjy," 
the  old  lady  went  on,  with  a  youthful  ring  to  her 
cracked  voice.  "  Fll  be  bound  you  stepped  out 
like  your  pa/7 

All  Benjamin  Franklin's  weariness  had  van 
ished.  His  face  was  beaming.  He  tossed  away 
his  tear-wet  handkerchief,  glided  backward,  laid 
his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  bent  his  short  body 
in  a  graceful  bow.  A  roguish  gleam  shot  into 
his  mother's  dark  eyes.  She  shook  out  her  scant 
black  skirts,  and  sank  nearly  to  the  floor  in  a 
sweeping  courtesy,  extending  her  finger-tips  as 
she  rose  to  lay  them  on  Benjamin  Franklin's  arm. 
Thus,  slowly  and  with  measured  steps  she  made 
the  circuit  of  the  dim  little  room,  halting  near 
the  fireplace  with  another  wonderful  reverence. 
Then,  softly  humming  a  by-gone  tune,  she  tripped 
lightly  through  the  mazy  turnings  of  an  old- 
fashioned  reel.  Mr.  Gish,  radiant,  bobbed  after 
her,  clumsily  imitating  her  mincing  steps.  Her 
tall,  erect  figure  had  an  almost  girlish  grace  ;  a 
smile  hovered  about  her  thin  lips  ;  her  small  feet 

15 


226  MR.   BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN   GISIl's  BALL 

in  their  loose  felt  slippers  fairly  twinkled.  More 
than  once  she  held  up  a  warning  finger  and 
glanced  over  her  shoulder,  fearful  lest  the  girls 
should  awake.  At  last,  with  a  quaint  little 
twirl,  she  stopped,  her  hands  set  saucily  upon 
her  hips,  and  looked  at  her  son  with  laughter- 
wet  eyes. 

"  Go  'long  to  bed,  Benjy,"  she  said,  presently, 
giving  him  an  affectionate  little  shove;  "it's 
high  time  the  chickens  was  crowin'  for  day  !" 

He  kissed  her,  and  ran,  breathlessly,  up  to  the 
•little  hall  bedroom,  the  happiest  assistant  book 
keeper  that  ever  gave  a  ball. 


"THE    CENTEE  FIGGEE 


"  DEY  tells  me  you  gwine  ter  be  de  centre  fig- 
ger  at  de  'Mancipation  Day  ter-morrer,  Aim' 
Calline/'  said  Uncle  Jake  Prince,  halting  in  the 
dusty  road  outside  the  gate,  and  shifting  his 
white-oak  split  basket  from  one  arm  to  the  other. 

"  I  sholy  is,  Unk  Jake,"  responded  Aunt  Cal 
line,  with  dignity. 

The  other  cabins  in  the  long,  double  row  of  low 
two-roomed  houses  which  had  once  made  up  the 
quarters  of  the  old  Winston  plantation  had  fallen 
into  disuse  and  decay  ;  grass  grew  in  their  afore 
time  trim  door-yards  ;  ' '  jimson  "  weed  and  mul 
lein  choked  their  garden-patches  ;  their  window- 
shutters  swung  loose  on  broken  hinges  ;  their 
floors  were  mildewed  and  rotting ;  their  very 
chimneys  were  crumbling  ;  the  broad  walk  which 
led  past  them  and  on  to  the  "  great-house, "  just 
showing  its  white-pillared  galleries  and  peaked 
dormer-windowed  roof  through  the  trees,  was  a 
tangled  thicket  of  undergrowth.  The  ( '  great- 
house"  itself,  seen  more  closely,  wore  an  air  of 
dilapidation,  mournful  enough  to  those  who  re 
membered  it  in  the  time  of  the  old  colonel,  when 


228  "THE  CENTRE  FIGGER" 

its  hospitable  doors  stood  wide  open  winter  and 
summer,,  and  even  the  pickaninnies  swinging  on 
the  big  gate  grinned  a  welcome  to  the  incoming 
guest. 

But  Aunt  Calline's  cabin  preserved  its  old-time 
look  of  thrift  and  comfort.  In  the  little  garden 
there  were  beds  of  cabbages  and  beans  and  okra, 
bordered  with  sage  and  rosemary  ;  hollyhocks 
and  larkspur  and  pretty-by-nights  blossomed  in 
the  door-yard  ;  a  multinora  rose,  entangled  with 
honeysuckle,  clambered  up  the  squat  chimney, 
and  sent  its  long,  glossy  green  branches  over  the 
comb  of  the  sloping  roof  and  down  to  the  over 
hanging  eaves  ;  a  box  of  sweet-basil  stood  on  the 
window-sill,  and  a  patch  of  clove-pinks  by  the 
gravel-walk  filled  all  the  June  morning  with  spicy 
fragrance.  Within,  the  floor  was  yellow  and 
shining  from  immemorial  scrubbings  ;  the  rough 
walls  were  adorned  with  newspaper  pictures ; 
and  the  counterpane  and  old-fashioned  valance 
of  the  bed  were  snowy  white  and  sweet  with 
the  smell  of  lavender.  A  perpetual  fire  blazed 
or  smouldered  in  the  wide  fireplace,  while  on  the 
cracked  hearth  were  ranged  spiders  and  skillets 
and  ponderous  three-footed  ovens  with  huge  lids, 
suggestive  of  the  rich,  brown,  salt-rising  loaf,  the 
crusty  pone,  hand-imprinted,  the  steaming  pot- 
pie,  the  dainty  "snowball,"  of  days  when  self- 
respecting  cooks  looked  with  scorn  and  contempt 
on  a  cooking-stove. 

Aunt  Calline  herself,  as  she  sat  on  the  door 
step  beating  cake  batter  in  a  deep  pan  resting  on 
her  knees,  was  a  reminder  of  the  old  regime.  A 


"THE  CENTRE  FIGGEtt"  229 

fantastically  knotted  turban  encircled  her  head  ; 
a  spotless  "  handk'cher"  was  folded  across  her 
ample  bosom ;  her  scant  skirts  were  hitched  up 
under  a  long  blue-check  apron,  and  her  rusty  feet 
and  ankles  were  bare.  Her  kindly  old  face  was 
creased  with  wrinkles,  but  in  her  great  soft  brown 
eyes  dwelt  that  curious  look  of  eternal  youth 
which  belongs  to  her  people. 

"Big  Hannah,  whar  useter  b'long  ter  we-alls 
fambly,  wus  de  centre  figger  las'  year/'  continued 
Uncle  Jake,  sociably,  drawing  nearer  to  the  gate. 

" Humph  \"  grunted  Aunt  Calline  ;  "mighty 
fine  centre  figger  dat  corn-fiel'  gal  mus'  er  made, 
dough  she  is  er  sister  in  Zion  !  But  I  am'  seen 
Big  Hannah  ez  de  centre  figger.  I  ain'  nuver  been 
to  no  'Mancipation  Day." 

"  De  Lawd,  Aun'  Calline  !"  ejaculated  the  old 
man,  with  a  well-feigned  air  of  astonishment, 
"ain7  you  nuver  been  ter  de  'Mancipation  Day  ? 
Huccum  you  ain'  nuver  been  dar  ?" 

"We-el,"  replied  Aunt  Calline,  reflectively, 
dipping  up  a  spoonful  of  batter  and  letting  it 
drip  slowly  back  into  the  pan,  "hits  edzackly 
dish  yer  way.  D&fus  year  dey  celerbate  'Manci 
pation  Day  hit  wuz  jes'  er  leetle  a'ter  li'l  Marse 
Rod  lef  home.  Co'se  you  'members,  Unk  Jake, 
when  ole  Marse  Rod  an'  young  Marse  Ed  wuz 
kilt  in  de  wah  an'  fotch  home." 

Uncle  Jake  nodded.  He  had  set  down  his 
basket  and  placed  his  elbows  on  the  low  gate 
post  that  he  might  listen  more  at  his  ease  to 
the  familiar  story. 

"De  fambly  trebbles  wuz  mo'  beknownst  ter 


230  "TTTTC  CENTRE  FIGGER" 

me  an'  my  ole  man,  'caze  we  wuz  'mongs'  de 
house-servants  lak,  dan  dey  wuz  ter  you-all  fieF 
han's.  An'  'pear  lak  ole  mis'  an'  missy  wuz 
gwine  clean  crazy  when  dey  fotch  home,  fus  ole 
marse,  an'  den  Marse  Ed.  Den  hit  waVt  no 
time  'fo'  de  bre'k-up  an'  freedom.  An'  all  de 
fool  niggers  dey  up  an'  swarm  erway  fum  de 
place  same  ez  ef  dey  wuz  er  swarm  er  bees.  All 
two  er  dem  boys  o'  mine  wuz  'mongs'  de  fus  ter 
go ;  an'  you  wuz  'mongs'  de  fus  yo'se'f,  Jake 
Prince.  An'  whar  is  you  fool  niggers  now  ?" 
she  demanded,  abruptly,  her  voice  rising,  and  a 
look  of  scorn  flashing  into  her  eyes.  "  Whar  is 
you  fool  niggers  now,  I  axes  you  ?  You  is 
traipsin'  roun'  de  Ian',  callin'  yo'se'f  a'ter  de  low- 
life  nigger-trader  whar  sol'  you  ter  ole  marse, 
'stidder  takin'  de  name  o'  de  mos'  'spectable 
fambly  in  de  county.  An'  mighty  nigh  all  o' 
you-all  is  lazy  an'  good-fer-nothin',  whilse  heah  I 
is  in  de  cabin  dat  de  cunnel  gimme  de  same 
night  Ab'm  an'  me  stood  up  in  the  gre't  house 
dinin'-room  an'  got  married." 

'<  Dass  so,"  admitted  her  listener,  with  a  dep 
recatory  grin. 

"'Reckly  dey  wa'n't  nobody  lef  on  de  planta 
tion  'cep'n'  jes  me  an'  Ab'm  an'  Dick,  dat 
younges'  chile  o'  mine  dat  grow  up  'longside  o' 
li'l  Marse  Rod.  Lawd  !  li'l  Marse  Rod,  he  wuz 
de  beatenes'  white  chile  fum  de  cradle,  mun  !  I 
nussed  him  at  de  same  breas'  wi'  Dick,  an'  dem 
two  chillen  wuz  jes  lak  br'er  and  br'er.  Dey  run 
terg'er  fum  de  cradle." 

"  To  be  sho  !"  assented  Uncle  Jake.     "  I  'mem- 


"THE  CENTRE  FIGGER  "  231 

bers  dem  two  chillen  myse'f,  mighty  well.  Dey 
useter  pester  me  'bout  fishin'-lines  an'  wums, 
twel  I—" 

"  Li'l  Marse  Rod's  ha'r  wuz  dat  yaller  an' 
curly/'  she  went  on,  heedless  of  the  interruption, 
"twel  I  useter  tell  ole  mis' hit  wus  jes  lak  er 
twist  er  sugar-candy  ;  an'  when  dat  chile  laugh 
an'  ax  fer  sumpn,  Lawd  !  you  is  jes  boun'  fer  ter 
gin  hit  ter  him.  An'  dem  chillen  all  de  time 
terge'r.  Ef  Dick  wa'n't  at  de  gre't-house,  li'l 
Marse  Rod  wuz  in  dis  cabin.  'Pear  lak  I  kin 
heah  him  yit,  comin'  runnin'  down  de  walk  yan- 
der,  bareheaded,  an'  hollerin'  ter  me,  set-tin'  ed- 
zackly  whar  I  is  now,  ( Mammy,  tell  Dick  ter 
wait  fer  me  ;  I'm  comin'! " 

"  To  be  sho  !"  interjected  Uncle  Jake.  "  I 
'members  dat  mighty  well,  myse'f." 

"  He  wuz  er  high-spirited  chile  ;  an'  when  he 
look  erbout  him  an'  see  de  ole  plantation  lef  ter 
rack  an'  ruin,  an'  nobody  ter  tek  keer  o'  his  ma' 
an'  missy,  'cep'n'  Ab'm  an'  me,  he  seem  lak  he 
couldn't  'bide  dat.  He  wuz  jes  tu'n  o'  fo'teen 
den ;  jes  de  age  o'  my  Dick.  An'  one  mawnin' 
li'l  Marse  Rod  wuz  gone,  mun  !  An'  ole  mis' 
foun'  er  letter  onder  de  do'  whar  say  dat  he 
gwine  some'ers  fer  ter  wuk  twel  he  git  er  pile  o' 
money,  an'  den  he  comin'  back  an'  tek  keer  o' 
ole  mis',  an'  missy,  an'  Ab'm,  an'  me,  an'  Dick. 
An'  he  lef  er  good  word  fer  Dick  in  de  letter. 
An'  dass  de  las'  we  uver  heerd  tell  o'  li'l  Marse 
Rod.  But  I  tells  you,  Jake  Prince,  I  jes  ez  sho 
dat  chile  gwine  ter  come  back  ez  I  is  dat  I  settin' 
on  dish  yer  do'-step.  He  gwine  ter  come  back 


232  "THE  CENTRE  FIGGER" 

in  er  cayidge  an'  er  pa'r  er  high-steppin'  bosses, 
like  dem  Ab'm  useter  drive  fer  ole  mis'  'to'  de 
wah." 

She  rested  the  spoon  on  the  edge  of  the  pan 
for  a  moment,  while  her  eyes  sought  the  dingy 
"great-house"  among  its  embowering  trees. 

"We  am'  nuver  heerd  fum  him  sence,"  she 
resumed,  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  Ole  mis'  and 
missy  dey  bofe  werry  twel  dey  sick  'bout  Marse 
Rod,  an'  dat  huccum  I  didn'  go  ter  de  fus  'Man 
cipation  Day." 

"  Ole  Aun'  Dilsey  Cushin'  wuz  de  centre  fig- 
ger  dat  time,"  remarked  Uncle  Jake. 

"  Den  de  nex'  year  missy  wuz  on  de  p'int  er 
gettin'  married  ter  Cap'n  Tom  Ramsay,  fum 
Richmon',  an'  me  an'  ole  mis'  we  wuz  makin'  de 
weddin'-cake,  an'  I  ain'  had  no  time  fer  ter  fool 
'long  o'  'Mancipation  Day.  An'  de  nex9  year 
wuz  de  time  dat  my  Dick  wuz  fotch  home 
drownded  from  the  bayou.  Den  Ab'm  wuz  tuk 
down.  Mussy,  link  Jake,  you  'ain'  fergot  dem 
seven  year  whar  Ab'm  wuz  down  9" 

"Cert'n'y,  Aun'  Calling  I  'ain'  fergot  Unk 
Ab'm's  rheumatiz.  Dough  dat  ain'  bender  Unk 
Ab'm  fum  settin'  in  er  cheer  yander  by  de  fiah 
an'  pickin'  de  banjer.  Mun !  how  Unk  Ab'm 
could  pick  de  banjer  !" 

"  Dat  he  could  !  Dey  wa'n't  nobody  in  de 
quarter  could  tech  Ab'm  when  it  come  ter  pickin' 
de  banjer.  De  quality  useter  come  down  fum 
de  gre't  -  house  'f  o'  de  wah  ter  heah  him  pick 
'Billy  in  de  low  groun's,'  an'  'Sugar  in  de 
gode/  an'  de  lak  o'  dat.  Well,  I  'ain'  had  no  call 


" THE  CENTRE  FIGGER  "  233 

ter  go  whilse  de  ole  man  wuz  down  ,  an'  me  er 
tukin'  keer  at  de  same  time  o'  ole  mis'  an7  missy, 
an7  missy's  chillen." 

"  An'  missy  er  widder  at  dat." 

"  An'  missy  er  widder  at  dat.  Den  de  sweet 
chariot  done  swung  low  fer  Ab'm,  an'  he  tuk'n 
ter  glory.  An'  den  sometimes  one  an'  sometimes 
an'er  o'  missy's  chillen  had  de  measles,  o'  de 
whoopin'-cough,  o'  de  chicken-pox,  o'  de  scyar- 
let-fever,  an'  'pear  lak  I  conldn't  spar'  er  minit 
fer  er  frolic.  Co'se,  a'ter  missy  tuk'n  de  con- 
somption  an'  die,  an'  de  chillen  gone  ter  Cap'n 
Tom  Eamsay's  folks,  I  couldn'  leave  ole  mis'. 
Who  gwine  ter  stay  'long  o'  ole  mis'  whilse 
Calline  fla'ntin'  herse'f  ter  'Mancipation  Day  ? 
Year  befo'  las'  ole  mis'  she  tuk  down,  an'  I 
'am'  lef  her  night  ner  day  twel  she  pass  on 
ter  glory  las'  Sat'day  week.  An'  now,  sence 
de  fambly  is  all  brek  up,  an'  de  gre't-house  shet, 
an'  I  has  de  time,  I  gwine  ter  de  'Mancipation 
Day." 

"  Ez  de  centre  figger,"  respectfully  suggested 
Uncle  Jake. 

"  Ez  de  centre  figger.  I  has  been  invited  by 
all  de  conjugations  o'  all  de  chu'ches  ter  set  in 
de  head  cheer.  But,  kingdom  come,  Unk  Jake  !" 
she  broke  off,  rising  energetically  to  her  feet, 
'•'I  'ain'  got  time  ter  be  foolin'  'long  o'  you,  an' 
all  my  cake  ter  bake.  Dish  yer  batter  ready  for 
de  oven  now." 

"  Dass  so,  Aunt  Calline  !  I  is  in  er  mons'us 
hurry  myse'f.  I  done  promise  Miss  Botts  ter 
fotch  her  er  settin'  er  domineker  aigs  'fo'  sun-up 


234  "  THE    CENTRE   FIGGEK  " 

dis  mawnin'.  I  gotter  be  gwine."  And  he 
picked  up  his  basket  and  shuffled  away. 

It  was  late  that  night  when  Aunt  Calline 
went  to  bed.  Her  hamper  carefully  packed  and 
covered  with  a  clean  cloth  was  placed  on  the  lit 
tle  table  ;  beside  it  on  a  chair  was  laid  out  the 
black  bombazine  gown  reserved  for  state  occa 
sions,  the  sheer  kerchief,  and  the  freshly  ironed 
turban.  She  surveyed  these  last  preparations 
with  great  satisfaction  before  turning  down  the 
wick  of  the  smoky  kerosene  lamp.  "  Bless  de 
Lawd,"  she  muttered,  "I  is  gwine  ter  feel  my 
freedom  at  las'  !  I  is  gwine  ter  de  'Mancipation 
Day  dis  time,  slio  I  An'  I  boun'  Big  Hannah, 
wi'  de  res'  o'  de  corn-fiel'  niggers,  gwine  ter 
laugh  de  wrong  side  o'  dey  mouf  when  dey  sees 
me  settin'  in  de  head  cheer  ez  de  centre  figger, 
an'  all  de  conjugations  o'  all  de  chu'ches  corn- 
in'  up  an'  makin'  dey  bow  ter  Sister  Calline 
Wins'n." 

She  was  up  betimes  the  next  morning.  The 
first  long  slanting  rays  of  sunlight  came  in 
through  the  half-open  shutter  as  she  gave  a  last 
twist  to  the  wonderful  knot  in  her  turban. 
"  Now,"  she  said  aloud,  "  I  gwine  ter  feed  de 
chickens,  an'  tie  up  ole  Rove,  an'  kiver  up  de 
fiah,  an'  den  I  kin  say  I  ready." 

She  opened  the  front  door  as  she  spoke,  but 
she  started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  anger 
and  surprise.  A  man,  evidently  a  tramp,  was 
huddled  upon  the  step,  his  head  resting  upon 
his  arms,  which  were  crossed  upon  the  door-sill. 

"Look  a-heah,  white  man,"  she   began,  in   u 


"THE  CENTRE  FIGGER"  235 

shrill,  high  voice,  "what  you  doin'?  Whar  you 
come  fum  ?  I  gwine  ter  set  de  dog  on  you  dis 
minit  ef  you  doan  git  up  fum  dar  an'  go  'long 
'bout  yo'  business." 

The  bundle  of  rags  at  her  feet  stirred.  He 
lifted  his  head  and  threw  back  the  long,  mat 
ted  hair  from  his  forehead.  A  pair  of  dim  blue 
eyes  looked  up  at  her  appealingly ;  a  wan  smile 
played  over  the  emaciated  and  sunken  features  ; 
the  pale  lips  parted  as  if  for  speech.  But  there 
was  no  need.  She  had  gathered  him  up  in  her 
arms,  rags  and  all,  and  was  carrying  the  light 
burden  across  the  threshold,  laughing  hysteri 
cally. 

"Lawd,  li'l  Marse  Rod!"  she  cried,  as  she 
placed  him  in  the  big  split- bottomed  chair  in  a 
corner  of  the  fireplace,  "  I  know'd  you  wuz 
gwine  ter  come  back  !  I  is  know'd  it  all  de 
time.  An'  yo'  po'  ole  mammy  so  blin'  dat  she 
didn'  jes  edzackly  place  you  at  de  fus'  look. 
'Sides,  you  didn't  had  no  ms^stache  when  you  lef 
home."  The  tears  were  streaming  down  her  old 
cheeks  as  she  hovered  over  him  in  an  ecstasy  of 
joy.  He  essayed  to  speak,  but  a  hollow  cough 
wrenched  his  frail  body,  and  his  head  dropped 
helplessly  against  the  faithful  breast  which  had 
pillowed  it  in  infancy. 

"Doaii  you  try  ter  talk,  honey,"  she  said, 
stroking  his  cheek  with  her  hand.  Then,  lean 
ing  over  him  and  interpreting  a  look  in  his  hag 
gard  eyes,  she  cried,  "My  Lawd  a'  mighty,  de 
chile  is  Uongry  /" 

She  dragged  the  table  to  his  side  with  feverish 


236  "THE    CENTRE   FIGGER  " 

haste,  and  spread  upon  it  the  contents  of  the 
basket.  She  affected  not  to  notice  while  he  ate 
— almost  ravenously.  "You  sees,  Marse  Rod/7 
she  said,  now  down  on  her  knees  before  him, 
removing  the  tattered  shoes  from  his  blistered 
and  travel-worn  feet — "you  sees  dat  de  quality 
doan  nuver  put  on  dey  fine  cloze  fer  ter  travel 
in,  an'  I  might  o'  knoio'd  dat  you  waVt  gwine 
ter  come  home  all  dress  up  in  broadcloth,  same 
ez  ef  you  waVt  no  mo'n  po'  white  trash/' 

Kodney  Winston  smiled  pitifully.  He  had 
pushed  away  his  plate,  and  was  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  exhausted  and  panting. 

"Mammy,"  he  interrupted,  speaking  for  the 
first  time,  and  laying  a  thin  hand  caressingly  on 
her  shoulder,  "where  is  my  mother  ?" 

"  I  'clar'  ter  goodness,"  she  went  on,  with  ten 
der  volubility,  pretending  not  to  hear,  "you  look 
edzackly  lak  you  did,  edzackly  !  I  gwine  ter  cut 
yo'  ha'r  'reckly — dat  same  yaller  ha'r  whar  me 
an'  ole  mis'  useter  say  look  lak  er  twis'  er  sugar- 
candy — an'  den  you  kin  put  on  some  o'  Ab'm's 
cloze  yander  in  de  chis ;  dey  waz  all  yo'  pa's, 
honey,  an'  you  am'  gwine  ter  be  'shame'  ter  w'ar 
'em  twel  yo'  trunk  gits  heah  ;  an'  den — " 

"Mammy,"  he  began  again.  But  at  this  mo 
ment  a  confused  and  tumultuous  sound  began  to 
float  in  on  the  fresh  morning  air. 

"  Jes  you  wait  er  minit,  li'l  marse,"  she  said, 
starting  up ;  and  throwing  a  light  covering  across 
his  knees,  she  went  out  into  the  yard,  closing  the 
door  behind  her. 

The  procession  was  coming — the  great,  good- 


"THE  CENTRE  FIGGER"  237 

humored  crowd  which  had  been  gathering  since 
long  before  daylight  about  the  doors  of  Antioch 
Church.  Every  negro  in  the  county,  big  and 
little,  young  and  old,  was  there— the  congrega 
tions  of  the  churches  marching  on  foot  and  car 
rying  banners  ;  the  Sunday  -  schools  under  the 
leadership  of  the  elders  ;  societies  with  badges ; 
Sisters  of  Rebecca  and  Daughters  of  Deborah  in 
blue  cambric  shoulder-capes  and  wide  belts  ;  Sons 
of  Zion  in  the  wrinkled  and  creased  broadcloth 
coats  and  the  well-preserved  silk  hats  of  a  dead 
and  gone  generation  ;  wagon  loads  of  old  people 
and  babies;  back-sliders  with  banjos  and  fiddles; 
hardened  sinners  who  had  never  even  been  seek 
ers  at  the  mourners'  bench — they  were  all  there, 
and  the  long  line  had  just  turned  the  corner 
of  the  field  beyond  the  "great-house."  It  was 
headed  by  an  open  wagon  which  carried  the  choir 
of  Antioch  Church.  Jerry  Martin,  big,  black, 
and  sleek,  one  of  the  chief  holders  in  Zion,  stood 
on  the  front  seat,  swaying  from  side  to  side,  and 
shouting : 

"  Ole  Satan  he  thought  dat  he  had  me  fas'." 

The  shrill  voices  of  the  women  took  up  the  re 
frain  : 

' '  March  erlong,  childern,  march  erlong  /" 

"But  I  is  broke  his  chains  at  las'." 
And  the  whole  line  joined  in  the  chorus  : 
"March  erlong,  childern,for  de  Promis'  Lari  is  nigh." 


238  "THE   CENTRE   FIGGER" 

The  sound  rolled  away  triumphant,  mighty 
unctuous,,  and  came  echoing  back  from  the  dis 
tant  woodland. 

The  carriage  destined  for  that  sister  in  Zion 
whose  virtues  entitled  her  to  the  foremost  place 
of  honor  followed  Jerry  and  his  choir.  Aunt 
Calline's  heart  thrilled  with  pride  as  it  rattled 
up  to  the  gate  and  stopped.  It  was  the  old  Win 
ston  family  carriage,  dilapidated,  and  somewhat 
the  worse  for  wear,  but  strong  and  serviceable 
still.  Two  sleek  mules  trotted  under  the  ragged 
harness,  and  Uncle  Jake  Prince  sat  on  the  driver's 
seat.  Brother  'Lijah  Vance,  the  pastor  of  Anti- 
och,  got  out.  The  vast  procession  halted,  and  a 
sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  people. 

Brother  Vance  lifted  the  latch  of  the  gate. 
"  Good-mawnin',  Sister  Wins'n,"  he  said,  pom 
pously,  removing  his  tall  hat  and  extending  a 
gloved  hand.  "De  centre  figger  will  please  ha' 
de  goodness  ter  tek  er  seat  in  de  cayidge,  an'  be 
druv  ter  de  'Mancipation  Groun's." 

"  Much  erbleege  ter  you,  Br'er  Vance,"  replied 
Sister  Winston,  with  her  grandest  courtesy,  "an' 
I  meks  my  compliments  ter  de  chu'ches  an'  de 
chu'ch-members.  But  I  has  comp'ny  dis  mawn- 
in',  an'  I  axes  you  ter  scuse  me  furn  bein'  de  cen 
tre  figger." 

"Lawd,  Aim'  Calline  !"  exclaimed  Brother 
Vance,  dropping  in  his  dismay  into  every-day 
manners,  "who  gwine  ter  be  de  centre  figger  ef 
you  am'  ?" 

"  Mr.  Eodney  Wins'n  done  come  home, 'Lijah," 
she  replied.  A  murmur  of  surprise  swept  down 


"THE   CENTRE   FIGGER  "  239 

the  line ;  many  of  the  old  Winston  negroes  were 
near,  and  these  left  their  places  and  came  crowd 
ing  about  the  gate.  "  Li'l  Marse  Rod  done  come 
back,"  she  continued,,  her  head  raised  majesti 
cally,  and  her  hands  folded  across  her  bosom  ; 
"he  ain'  ter  say  rested  yet,  but  ter-morrer  he 
gwine  ter  open  up  de  gre't-house  yander.  He 
axes  you  all  howdy,  an'  he  say  you  mus'  come  up 
an'  shek  ban's  at  de  gre't-house." 

"  To  be  sho  !"  ejaculated  Uncle  Jake  from  his 
perch. 

"Dass  de  li'l  Marse  Rod  whar  Mis'  Calline 
Wins'n  been  jawin'  'bout  ever  sence  I  bawn," 
giggled  one  of  the  girls  in  the  choir-wagon,  a 
pretty  mulattress  with  a  saucy  face.  "  Whar's  de 
cayidge,  an7  de  pa'r  er  high-steppin'  bosses,  an' 
de  baag  er  gol'  he  gwine  ter  fotch  home  fum 
yander,  Aim'  Calline  ?" 

Aunt  Calline  turned  upon  her  wrathfully. 
"  Yer  lazy,  good-fer-nothin',  low-down  nigger," 
she  blazed,  "  ef  you  doan  shet  yo'  mouf,  I  gwine 
ter  hise  myse'f  in  dat  wagin  an'  w'ar  you  ter  a 
plum  frazzle." 

The  girl  cowered  down  behind  her  compan 
ions,  subdued  and  frightened.  Brother  Vance 
re-entered  the  carriage,  much  perplexed  by  the 
unexpected  turn  of  events.  Jerry  Martin  lifted 
up  his  powerful  voice  again,  and  the  procession 
passed  on. 

She  went  back  into  the  cabin.  Her  guest  un 
closed  his  eyes  as  she  entered,  and  looked  about 
him  vaguely  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  hardly  knew 
where  he  was.  Then  a  quick  flush  mounted  to 


240  "THE  CENTRE  FIGGER" 

his  cheek.  "Mammy/'  he  insisted,  "where  is 
my  mother  ?" 

"Well,  honey/' she  admitted,  reluctantly, "yer 
ma  am'  ter  say  livin'  edzackly  ;  she  done — " 

"And  my  sister  ?" 

"Marse  Rod,  you  knows  dat  missy  wuz  po'ly 
f  um  de  cradle  ;  an'  de  consomption  bein'  'mongs' 
de  fambly — 'mongs'  de  women-folks,  min'  you ; 
'tain't  'mongs'  de  men-folks  —  an'  hit  seem  lak 
missy  jes  liatter  go." 

"Dick?" 

"Lawd,  chile,  I  ain't  nuver  spected  ter  raise 
Dick  I  Dick  wuz  dat  venturesome  dat  when  dey 
fotch  him  home  fum  de  bayou  drownded  I  ain' 
ter  say  'stonisli'.  Dick  he  layin'  out  yander  in 
de  fambly  buryin'-groun',  jes  'cross  de  foot  o' 
yo'  pa  an'  yo'  ma ;  an'  Ab'm  he  in  de  cornder, 
whar  dey  is  lef  a  place  fer  me." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  groaned. 

"  Doan  be  trebbled,  honey,"  she  said,  soothing 
him  as  one  would  soothe  a  hurt  child — "  doan  be 
trebbled." 

When  she  had  clipped  his  hair  and  dressed 
him  in  the  spotless  linen  and  the  old,  blue, 
brass -buttoned  suit,  which  had  once  been  his 
father's,  he  lay  on  the  bed,  following  with  grate 
ful  eves  her  bustling  movements  about  the 


o 

room. 


"  Mammy,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  I've  come  back 
poorer  than  I  went  away.  I've  been  everywhere  ; 
I've  tried  everything.  In  all  these  years  I  have 
somehow  not  been  able  to  make  my  bread,  much 
less — I  was  ashamed  even  to  write  to  my  mother 


"THE  CENTRE  FIGGER"  241 

until  I  could  tell  her  that  I  was  coming  home  to 
take  care  of  her  ;  and  now — " 

"Dat  doan  matter,  honey/'  she  interrupted, 
eagerly.  "  Doan  you  fret  yo'se'f.  We  gwine  ter 
git  erlong.  Yo'  ole  mammy  kin  wuk.  Lawd,  dey 
ain't  no  young  gal  in  dish  yer  county  whar  kin  do 
day's  wuk  lak  I  kin  !  An'  when  you  gits  fa'r 
rested,  you  is  gwine  ter  tek  up  de  ole  plantation, 
an'  men'  de  fences,  an'  patch  up  de  cabins,  and 
hiah  de  mules  an'  de  niggers.  Mun  !  de  niggers 
gwine  ter  be  mighty  proud  when  dey  gits  er 
chance  ter  come  back  ter  de  old  plantation ;  an' 
den—" 

Even  as  she  spoke  his  eyes  closed,  his  head 
dropped,  a  mortal  pallor  crept  over  his  already 
pale  face. 

"  0  Lawd,  doan  let  de  chile  die  !"  she  sobbed, 
chafing  his  pulseless  wrists  and  rubbing  his  cold 
feet.  He  presently  rallied,  and  sank  into  a 
peaceful  slumber,  which  lasted  well  on  into  the 
afternoon.  She  sat  watching  him  while  he  slept, 
her  old  brain  teeming  with  visions  of  the  renewed 
glories  of  Winston  Place.  The  doors  of  the  "great- 
house"  once  more  stood  wide  open ; — the  sound  of 
music  and  laughter  rang  out  from  the  windows  ; 
— horses  were  hitched  in  the  lane ; — carriages 
rolled  around  the  drive,  and  ladies  in  long,  rus 
tling  silk  dresses  got  out  and  passed  up  the  steps  ; 
— children  were  at  play  on  the  smooth  lawn — 
children  with  skin  like  the  snow  of  apple  blos 
soms,  and  coal-black  pickaninnies  with  laughing 
eyes  and  shining  teeth ; — a  pack  of  hounds  leaped 
and  yelped  about  the  stable -yard,  where  the 

1C 


242  "THE  CENTRE  FIGGER" 

yonng  master  and  his  friends  were  mounting  for 
a  fox-hunt ; — the  long  table  in  the  dining-room 
blazed  with  crystal  and  silver  under  the  light  of 
the  lamps ; — the  house-girls  ran  in  and  out,  carry 
ing  trays  of  glasses,  wherein  the  ice  tinkled  and 
wherefrom  the  sprigs  of  bruised  mint  perfumed 
the  air; — outside,  in  the  lane,  the  field-hands 
were  going  by  with  cotton-baskets  on  their  heads 
and  singing; — in  the  big  kitchen  fireplace  the 
flames  roared — 

Suddenly  a  clear  young  voice  filled  the  room. 
Could  it  be  the  curly-haired  lad  coming  running 
bareheaded  down  the  walk  from  the  "great- 
house  "  ?  "  Mammy,  tell  Dick  to  wait  for  me ;  I'm 
coming  I"  he  cried,  a  boyish  smile  playing  about  his 
lips,  and  a  boyish  light  sparkling  in  his  dying  eyes. 

"De  las'  o'  we-alls  fambly,"  moaned  the  faith 
ful  soul,  straightening  his  limbs  and  smoothing 
back  the  still,  silken  curls  from  his  forehead. 

An  hour  or  two  later  she  came  out  into  the 
yard.  The  sun  had  set ;  the  first  stars  were  com 
ing  into  the  soft  gray  sky,  and  under  the  horizon 
hung  the  pale  crescent  of  a  new  moon.  "  I  gwine 
ter  put  some  pinks  an7  some  honeysuckle  in  his 
ban's,"  she  murmured,  "'caze  ole  mis'  gimme 
dem  pinks  an'  dat  honeysuckle  fum  onder  her 
winder  yander  ter  de  gre't-house.  An'  I  gwine 
ter  bury  him  'longside  o'  Dick,  'caze  Dick  he  been 
er  waitin'  er  long  time  fer  li'l  Marse  Eod." 

The  evening  wind  was  rising,  and  on  it  came 
borne  the  sound  of  singing.  She  lifted  her  head, 
listening.  It  was  the  'Mancipation  Day  proces- 


"THE  CENTRE  FIGGEK  <«4o 

sion.    Brother  Vance  was  leading  his  flock  home 
ward  through  the  gathering  dusk. 

"Its  wuked  all  day  in  de  br'iliri  sun," 

sang  Jerry  Martin,  the  mellow  tones  of  his  voice 
ringing  clearly  out  across  the  open  fields. 

"Lawd  Jesus,  call  me  Jiome!" 
responded  the  people. 

"  Now  de  sun  is  down  an'  de  wuk  is  done." 
"Lawd  Jesus,  call  me  home!" 

"  Dass  so  \"  said  Aunt  Calline,  softly.  "  Dass 
so  !  De  wuk  is  sho  done.  Lawd  Jesus,  call  me 
home  I" 


THE    "ZARK" 


' '  You,  'Lijah  \"  called  Aunt  Cindy  from  within 
the  cabin,  ' '  ef  you  doan  keep  out'n  dat  water,  I 
is  sholy  gwine  ter  w'ar  you  ter  er  plum  frazzle. " 

"  Yass'm,"  replied  'Lijah,  continuing  to  wriggle 
his  small  dusky  body  about  in  the  water,  and 
feeling  with  his  toes  for  the  ground,  as  he  swung 
by  the  tips  of  his  fingers  from  the  gallery.  But 
when  his  mother  suddenly  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  with  a  well-seasoned  bunch  of  switches  in 
her  hand,  he  crawled,  chuckling,  up  on  the  wet 
planks,  and  stretched  himself  there  like  a  baby 
alligator  in  the  warm  noonday  sun. 

Three  days  before  the  levee  over  on  the  big 
swollen  river  had  broken,  and  the  waters  from 
the  crevasse  were  swirling  about  Aunt  Cindy 
Washington's  cabin,  and  rushing  away,  yellow 
and  foaming,  in  an  angry  current  that  was  cutting 
a  huge  channel  for  itself  across  the  very  heart  of 
the  country.  From  the  high  gallery  it  looked 
like  a  vast  sea,  spreading  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  to  the  south  and  west,  and  gaining  hour  by 
hour  upon  the  line  of  forest  trees  far  away  under 
the  eastern  horizon.  Back  of  the  cabin  the 


THE  "ZAKK"  245 

ground  rose  a  little ;  in  one  corner  of  the  strag 
gling  turnip-patch  a  bit  of  green  even  showed  it 
self  when  a  breeze  rippled  the  waves. 

The  first  swift  onslaught  of  the  flood  had  car 
ried  away  nearly  all  the  cabins  and  out-houses 
scattered  about  the  isolated  negro  settlement  of 
Bethel  Church  ;  those  that  remained  threatened 
every  moment  to  topple  over  into  the  widening 
stream,  on  whose  surface  floated  the  forlorn  mass 
of  wreckage — beams,  shingles,  doors,  window- 
shutters,  odds  and  ends  of  household  goods,  bales 
of  hay,  chicken-coops,  tree-stumps,  animals  liv 
ing  and  dead — that  told  its  own  pitiful  story  of 
destruction.  The  inhabitants  had  been  removed 
to  a  place  of  safety  by  the  relief -boats  that  passed 
and  repassed,  distributing  provisions  and  caring 
for  the  needy  and  homeless. 

But  Aunt  Cindy  had  stoutly  refused  to  abandon 
her  cabin.  "De  onderpinnin'  o'  dish  yer  cabin," 
she  declared,  "ain'  lak  de  onderpinnin'  o'  dem 
yander  triflin"  no-'count  cabins.  'Gaze  SolWash- 
Vton,  my  ole  man,  is  put  up  dish  yer  cabin  wi' 
his  own  han's  befo*  he  was  tuk'n  ter  glory,  an* 
I  knows  hit's  gwine  ter  stan' !" 

The  queer  ramshackle  little  structure  which 
Uncle  Sol  Washington  had  put  up  "  with  his  own 
hands  "  had  one  room  and  a  front  gallery,  and  in 
ordinary  times  its  peaked  and  lop-sided  roof 
amply  sheltered  Aunt  Cindy,  her  four  well-grown 
girls — Polly,  Dicy,  Sal,  and  Viny — and  her  one 
eleven-year-old  boy  'Lijah.  Just  now,  however, 
it  must  be  confessed,  the  cabin  was  somewhat 
crowded.  At  the  first  note  of  warning,  Pomp, 


246  THE  "ZARK" 

the  old  white  mule  which  assisted  in  the  making 
of  Aunt  Cindy's  modest  "  crap/'  had  been  guided 
up  the  rickety  steps,  and  quartered  on  one  end  of 
the  gallery,  where  he  munched  contentedly  all 
day  long  from  the  pile  of  corn  and  fodder  sup 
plied  by  the  government  relief  boat.  A  new-born 
calf,  which  had  drifted  against  the  back  door, 
and  had  been  lifted  in  and  warmed  to  life  on  the 
wide  hearth-stone,  stood  beside  him,  or  trotted 
like  a  kitten  in  and  out  of  the  open  doorway. 
A  big  flop-eared  hound -dog  had  buffeted  his 
way,  swimming,  to  the  edge  of  the  gallery,  and 
looked  up  with  red,  appealing  eyes ;  he  now  lay 
in  a  corner  of  the  fireplace,  sleek,  brown,  and 
dry,  and  sniffed  hungrily  at  the  frying-pan.  A 
turkey-cock  strutted  about  the  floor.  A  litter  of 
pigs  grunted  in  a  corner. 

"  I  'clar'  ter  goodness,"  said  Aunt  Cindy  the 
second  morning,  as  she  fished  out  a  coop  of  half- 
drowned  chickens,  which  came  bumping  against 
the  wall,  "hit's  edzacktly  lak  de  Zark  dat  ole 
Noah  done  builded  at  de  comman'  o'  de  Lawd  I" 

A  few  hours  later  a  'possum  crept  in,  and  made 
his  way  stealthily  to  one  of  the  blackened  rafters 
under  the  roof,  whence  he  looked  gravely  down  ; 
and  a  lame  blackbird  hopped  upon  the  snowy 
counterpane  of  Aunt  Cindy's  big  four-post  bed, 
and  nestled  among  the  pillows. 

"  Hit's  er  ^ark !"  repeated  Aunt  Cindy,  cheer 
fully,  "an'  I  knows  dat  de  onderpinnin'  is  gwine 
ter  stan'.  An'  wi'  gov'ment  bacon  an'  de  catfish 
dat  me  an'  de  chillen  kin  ketch  frum  de  gall'ry, 
we  ain'  gwine  ter  starve." 


THE  "ZARK"  247 

'Lijah  sunned  himself  in  his  wet  clothes,  now 
staring  dreamily  at  the  soft  blue  March  sky  over 
head,  now  watching  Polly,  who  was  fishing  from 
the  other  end  of  the  gallery  close  to  old  Pomp's 
inoffensive  heels.  Suddenly  he  scrambled  to  his 
feet  and  gazed  intently  out  over  the  yellow  sea. 
The  next  moment  he  plunged  headlong  into 
the  water,  where  for  a  second  he  disappeared, 
then  rose,  spluttering  and  blowing. 

Polly  threw  down  her  pole  at  the  splash  and 
ran  forward.  ll  You,  'Lije,"  she  gasped,  "come 
out'n  dat  water  dis  minute  !  Does  you  wanter 
drown  yo'se'f  ?  Mammy  gwine  ter  w'ar  you  ter 
er— " 

She  stopped  abruptly ;  her  mouth  remained 
wide  open  and  her  eyes  dilated.  'Lijah  was  push 
ing  his  way  slowly  against  the  incoming  waves. 
The  water,  at  first  a  little  below  his  shoulders, 
presently  lapped  against  his  chin.  Once  or  twice 
he  slipped,  and  then  only  the  top  of  his  woolly 
head  was  visible  in  the  foam.  Finally  he  struck 
out,  and  swam  with  unsteady,  childish  strokes 
towards  the  object  upon  which  his  eyes  were 
fixed.  It  was  a  whitish  mass,  which  floated 
slowly,  as  if  driven  by  a  light  wind,  towards  the 
rapid  current  of  the  deeper  channel  a  few  yards 
away.  As  'Lijah  approached  it  caught  in  the 
scraggy  tops  of  some  altheas  that  marked  the 
boundary  of  the  cabin  door-yard ;  there  it  stopped 
a  moment,  swaying  from  side  to  side,  as  if  about 
to  sink  ;  then,  caught  in  an  eddy,  it  turned  sud 
denly  and  shot  forward.  'Lijah  made  a  desper 
ate  spurt  and  laid  hold  of  it,  drawing  it  cau- 


248  THE  "ZARK" 

tionsly  to  him ;  his  lean,  brown  arm  glistened  in 
the  sun  as  he  stretched  it  out.  He  turned  with 
difficulty,  and  labored  back,,  pushing  the  drift 
before  him.  As  he  came  up,  Polly,  who  had 
been  too  terrified  to  utter  a  word,  seized  him, 
and  drew  him  upon  the  gallery,  where  he  dropped, 
exhausted  and  panting.  Then  she  looked  down 
at  the  jetsam  he  had  towed  in,  and  gave  a  screech 
which  brought  Aunt  Cindy,  the  girls,  and  the 
dog  flying  out. 

It  was  indeed  a  strange  little  craft  which  lay 
alongside  the  Zark — a  tiny  cradle  mattress,  water- 
soaked  and  stained.  Lying  upon  it — its  single 
passenger — was  a  four  or  five  months'  old  girl 
baby,  white  and  delicate  as  a  snow-drop.  She 
was  clad  in  a  long  night-gown,  which  clung  in 
dripping  folds  about  her  plump  little  body  ;  it 
was  open  at  the  throat,  showing  her  round,  dim 
pled  neck,  encircled  by  a  string  of  coral  with  a 
broad  clasp  of  gold.  The  soft  rings  of  brown 
hair  that  curled  about  her  forehead  were  wet  and 
glistening.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  lips  were 
blue,  and  her  cheeks  cold  and  pale.  In  one  tiny 
benumbed  fist  she  grasped  a  green  leaf,  which 
she  had  probably  caught  from  some  overhanging 
vine. 

"Get  de  kittle  er  hot  water,  Dicy,"  ordered 
Aunt  Cindy,  as  she  lifted  the  mattress  in  her 
arms  and  carried  it  into  the  cabin.  "Stir 
yo'se'f,  gal !  Polly,  fetch  'Lijah  er  swaller  o'  pep- 
per-sass.  Punch  up  de  fiah,  Sal.  Po'  HT  gal 
chile!  Deir  ain?  much  bref  lef  in  yo'  body, 
honey.  Is  de  worl?  comin'  ter  er  een  ?" 


THE  "ZARK"  249 

Half  an  hour  later  the  baby,  lying  on  Aunt 
Cindy's  lap,  opened  her  blue  eyes  languidly,  and 
looked  at  the  wondering  group  gathered  around 
her. 

"  Dar  now  !"  said  Aunt  Cindy,  comfortably, 
"  I  gwine  ter  git  her  somefin  ter  eat,  an'  den  I 
be  boun'  she  gwine  ter  be  lively." 

The  little  creature  pursed  up  her  pretty  mouth 
and  began  to  whimper  as  her  eyes  went  from 
face  to  face.  But  catching  sight  of  'Lijah,  who 
had  recovered  his  breath  in  rebellion  against  the 
pepper-sauce,  some  mysterious  sense  within  her 
seemed  to  stir  ;  she  smiled,  reached  out  her  little 
hand,  and  clasped  a  finger  of  one  of  his  brown 
paws  with  a  gurgle  of  content. 

'Lijah  picked  up  from  the  hearth  the  bit  of 
green  vine  which  had  dropped  unnoticed  from 
the  baby's  unconscious  hand.  "  Hit's  de  dove," 
he  said,  "dat  de  Lawd  is  done  saunt  inter  de 
Zark  wi'  7er  green  leaf  in  her  hanV 

From  that  moment  the  baby  grew  and  thrived 
in  the  water-girt  cabin.  Its  inmates,  from  Aunt 
Cindy  herself  down  to  Viny,  the  youngest  child, 
adored  her.  Viny  declared  that  even  the  pigs 
tried  not  to  grunt  when  she  was  asleep.  But  it 
was  to  'Lijah  most  of  all  that  she  clung  with  all 
the  strength  of  her  baby  heart,  and  'Lijah  never 
wearied  of  "toting"  her  around  the  crowded 
room,  or  up  and  down  the  littered  gallery.  Aunt 
Cindy,  mindful  of  the  past  grandeurs  of  her  own 
white  folks,  cast  about  for  some  high-sounding 
name  for  the  precious  waif.  But  they  called  her 
Dovie;  and  there  she  abode,  a  white  flower  ringed 


250  THE  "ZARK" 

around  by  dark,  loving  faces,  while  the  water  rose 
and  fell  and  rose  again  as  the  crevasse  was  part 
ly  closed  or  the  levee  broke  afresh. 

One  morning,  nearly  two  months  later,  Aunt 
Cindy,  carrying  a  basket  of  fresh  eggs,  and  fol 
lowed  by  'Lijah,  approached  the  little  railway 
station  a  mile  or  so  from  Bethel  Church  just  as 
the  train  whizzed  away. 

A  light  carriage,  drawn  by  two  sleek  horses, 
was  waiting  at  the  station.  Its  owner,  busy  about 
the  harness,  looked  around  as  Aunt  Cindy  came 
up. 

' '  Dullaw  !"  she  exclaimed,  breaking  into  a 
broad  grin.  "  Ef  dat  ain'  liT  Marse  Jack  Man- 
nin'!  Howdy,  Marse  Jack  ?" 

The  young  man  shook  hands  with  her  heartily. 
"Why,  Aunt  Cindy,"  he  said,  "who  ever  would 
have  thought  of  seeing  you  away  up  here  ?" 

Aunt  Cindy  laughed.  "Sol  WashVton  wuz 
er  pow'ful  han'  ter  travel,"  she  replied.  "Huc- 
cum  you  here  yo'self,  Marse  Jack  ?  An"  whar  is 
you  lef  Miss  Nannie  ?" 

His  bright  face  clouded  anxiously.  "I  have 
bought  the  Four  Oaks  Plantation,  over  on  the 
river,"  he  said.  "Nannie  is  inside.  Go  and 
see  her,  Aunt  Cindy." 

The  young  and  delicate -looking  woman  who 
was  seated  in  the  little  waiting-room  threw  her 
self  with  a  wild  sob  into  the  arms  of  the  faithful 
soul  who  had  nursed  her  when  she  was  a  baby. 

"Oh,  mamrny  !  mammy  !"  she  moaned. 

"What's  de  matter,  honey?"  Aunt  Cindy  asked, 
tenderly  stroking  her  dark  curls. 


THE  "ZARK"  251 

The  story  which  Mrs.  Manning  told,  through 
her  tears,  was  a  sad  one.  Four  Oaks  Plantation, 
where  they  had  been  living  but  a  few  months, 
was  quite  near  the  river.  When  the  levee  gave 
way,  and  the  water  began  rapidly  to  rise,  they  had 
taken  refuge,  with  their  baby  and  some  of  the 
house-servants,  in  the  manager's  cottage,  a  short 
distance  in  the  rear.  There  they  passed  a  day 
and  part  of  a  night  in  the  greatest  anxiety. 
Towards  midnight  the  rush  of  water  became  so 
threatening  that  they  determined  to  take  again 
to  the  skiffs  that  had  brought  them  over.  She 
herself  was  on  the  gallery,  helping  her  husband 
and  the  negroes  to  get  the  boats  ready,  when  the 
house  suddenly  parted  in  the  middle,  as  if  cleft 
by  a  knife,  and  in  the  dense  darkness  one  end  of 
it  crashed  down  into  the  roaring  flood.  The 
baby,  sleeping  in  her  crib  within,  was  drowned. 

"  And  oh,  mammy/'  the  young  mother  sobbed, 
when  she  had  finished  the  story,  and  told  how 
they  were  finally  taken,  half  drowned  themselves, 
from  the  wreck,  by  a  relief -boat,  "if  I  could  only 
have  seen  my  baby  once  more  !  But  her  little 
body  was  swept  away  with  the  broken  timbers. 
The  deepest  channel  of  the  crevasse  now  is  just 
where  the  house  stood.  My  baby  —  my  little 
baby  I" 

Aunt  Cindy  started  involuntarily.  "  Miss  Nan 
nie,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  hit  wuz 
er  pow'ful  'fliction  de  losin'  er  dat  baby  boy." 

"  My  baby  was  a  girl,  mammy,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Manning,  sobbing  afresh,  "with  blue  eyes, 
and  brown  hair  that  curled  all  over  her  head." 


252  THE  "ZARK" 

"  Jes  lak  yo'n  useter,  honey/'  Aunt  Cindy's 
voice  had  a  ring  of  excitement  in  it.  She  got  up, 
and  went  out  to  where  'Lijah  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  platform  swinging  his  heels.  A  moment 
later  he  set  off,  whooping,  by  a  short-cut  towards 
home,  with  the  hound  running  alongside.  Mr. 
Manning  was  walking  dejectedly  up  and  down  the 
platform.  "Marse  Jack/'  said  Aunt  Cindy,  in  a 
wheedling  tone,  "  you  knows  dat  I  is  knowed  you 
an'  Miss  Nannie  sence  you  waVt  knee-high  ter 
er  duck." 

"  Indeed  you  have,"  said  Mr.  Manning,  feeling 
in  his  pocket  for  some  loose  change. 

"  An'  dat  I  nussed  Miss  Nannie  when  she  wuz 
er  baby ;  an'  dat  I  close  her  ma's  eyes  when  she 
died." 

"Yes,"  he  said  again,  kindly. 

"An'  I  wants  you  ter  'suade  Miss  Nannie  ter 
drive  down  ter  my  cabin.  You  has  plenty  o'  time. 
Hit  ain'  fur,  an'  Miss  Nannie  might  be  hope  up 
by  seein'  o'  de  chillen." 

It  needed  no  coaxing  to  induce  Mrs.  Manning 
to  go.  She  clung  to  Aunt  Cindy,  whose  familiar 
presence  seemed  to  soothe  her,  and  they  got  in 
the  carriage. 

The  road  was  a  roundabout  one,  owing  to  the 
gullies  and  pitfalls  left  by  the  flood,  and  by  the 
time  they  came  in  sight  of  the  cabin  the  young 
woman  was  quiet  and  almost  cheerful. 

The  Zark  looked  forlorn  enough  ;  a  dingy  line 
around  the  walls  showed  the  point  at  which  the 
water  had  stood  for  many  weeks  ;  the  gallery  was 
rotting  and  falling  in ;  the  steps,  which  had  been 


THE  "ZARK"  253 

swept  away,  had  been  replaced  by  a  shaky  con 
trivance  of  boards.  The  fences  were  all  down, 
and  the  door-yard  was  heaped  with  tangled  drift. 
But  the  garden-patch  was  thriving ;  and  neat 
furrows  in  the  field  showed  that  old  Pomp  and 
Aunt  Cindy  had  been  at  work  there.  The  cabin 
door  was  closed,  and  no  one  was  in  sight. 

' '  Sol  Wash'n'ton  is  put  up  dish  yere  cabin  wi' 
his  own  han's,"  said  its  mistress,  proudly,  leading 
the  way  up  the  steps.  "  De  onderpinnin'  is  made 
fer  ter  stan' !  Ever'  cabin  in  Bethel  Chu'ch  is 
squish  down  'cep'n'  jes  mine.  We  done  call  hit 
de  Zark,  'caze — "  Mrs.  Manning's  eyes  were  fill 
ing  with  tears  again  at  the  mention  of  the  fatal 
crevasse.  Her  husband  gave  Aunt  Cindy  a  look 
of  warning,  but  she  went  on,  cheerfully  :  "We 
done  name  hit  de  Zark,  'caze  we  tuk  V  tuk  in 
everything  dat  come  er  pass  dis  way,  same  ez  ef 
hit  wuz  de  comrnan'  er  de  Lawd  !  Yes,  honey, 
we  tuk  V  tuk  in  chickens  an''  dawgs  an'  mules — 
ever'thing  !  Tossums  an'  'coons  —  ever'thing  ! 
Birds  an'  calves  an' — babies;  yes,  honey,  ev-er'- 
thing !"  She  had  her  arm  around  her  foster- 
child,  and  was  drawing  her  gently  towards  the 
cabin  door.  A  deadly  pallor  had  crept  into  Mrs. 
Manning's  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  wide  with 
entreaty.  "  Yes,  chile,  ef  er  liT  white  gal  baby 
come  floatin' — er  long — on  er  crib  mattress — 
she  pushed  open  the  door. 

The  stained  mattress  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  Dovie,  clad  in  the  little  gown — which  she 
had  sadly  outgrown  —  that  she  wore  when  she 
came  to  the  Zark,  had  been  placed  carefully  upon 


254  THE  "ZARK" 

it.  But  she  was  in  the  very  act  of  crawling  off  ; 
one  bare,  rosy  foot  was  thrust  out,  her  dimpled 
hands  grasped  the  torn  sheet,  her  lips  were  parted 
in  a  roguish  smile,  her  blue  eyes  sparkled.  Polly, 
Viny,  Sal,  and  Dicy  hung  around  the  mattress, 
giggling ;  'Lijah  stood  guard  over  her ;  the  hound 
by  his  side  looked  gravely  on.  Dovie  looked  up 
as  the  door  opened,  and  frowned  inquiringly  ; 
then,  as  usual  in  any  emergency,  she  reached  up 
and  laid  firm  hold  of  'Lijah,  stuck  her  thumb  in 
her  mouth,  and  stared  at  the  intruders. 

Mrs.  Manning  stumbled  forward,  and  sank  with 
a  cry  to  the  floor. 

' '  Doan  you  be  skeered,  Marse  Jack/'  said  Aunt 
Cindy,  "she  ain't  gwine  ter  die.  Dat  kin'  er  joy 
doan  kill."  She  laid  the  frightened  child  in  the 
mother's  outstretched  arms.  "Why,  honey,  I 
might  er  knowed  dat  dis  baby  b'long  ter  we-alls 
f ambly.  Polly,  'ain'  you  got  no  manners  ?  Fetch 
er  cheer  fer  Marse  Jack  !  An'  Dicy  done  read 
de  plain  word  '  Nannie '  all  de  time  on  dat  gol' 
clasp  !  I  'ain'  shout  sence  Bethel  Chu'ch  is 
tumble  inter  de  flood,  but  I  sholy  is  gwine  ter 
shout  now.  Glory  !  Glory  /"  And  the  high,  tri 
umphant  cry  of  the  old  negress  went  echoing 
away  like  a  trumpet  tone  on  the  clear  morning 
air. 

Second  only  to  Dovie  herself  in  importance  at 
the  Four  Oaks  Plantation  great-house  is  'Lijah 
Washington.  He  waits  on  Marse  Jack  and  runs 
errands  for  Miss  Nannie.  But  for  the  most  part 
his  business  is  to  walk  around,  in  company  with 
the  flop-eared  hound,  after  Dovie,  who  is  just  be- 


THE    ' '  ZARK  "  255 

ginning  to  walk.  Sometimes  he  proudly  "totes  " 
her  in  his  arms. 

"  What  a  beautiful  baby  !"  a  visitor  exclaims, 
patting  Dovie's  dimpled  cheeks. 

"  Yass'm,,"  'Lijah  responds,  showing  his  white 
teeth  in  a  delighted  grin ;  "  dish  yere  is  de  dove 
dat  come  ter  de  Zark  endurin'  er  de  flood  wi'  er 
green  leaf  in  her  liT  nan',  an5 1  done  tuk  V  tuk 
her  in.  Yass'm  !" 


THE    LOVE-STRANCHE 


"  CAX  you  '  cunjur/  Maum  Hagar  ?" 

The  words  were  carelessly  spoken,  but  Hagar,, 
keenly  sensitive  to  every  shade -of  feeling  in  her 
foster -son's  voice,  detected  an  unwonted  thrill 
beneath  their  airy  lightness. 

The  speaker  was  a  tall,  slightly  built  man  about 
thirty  years  of  age.  His  thin,  sallow  face  was  very 
handsome,  though  there  were  lines  of  dissipation 
about  the  dark,  smiling  eyes  and  the  low  forehead 
shaded  by  crisp,  reddish-brown  curls.  His  mouth, 
partly  hidden  by  a  drooping  mustache,  was  rath 
er  feminine,  but  the  smooth  chin  was  firm  almost 
to  hardness. 

His  clothes  were  of  irreproachable  cut  and 
fit ;  an  air  of  high-bred  ease  pervaded  his  whole 
person  as  he  swayed  lightly  to  and  fro  in  the  low 
rocking-chair,  fanning  himself  with  a  wide  hat 
whose  crown  was  encircled  by  a  band  of  crape. 

The  old  negress  who  stood  before  him  in  an 
attitude  at  once  familiar  and  respectful  was  like 
wise  tall  and  slender.  Her  brown,  furrowed  face 
beneath  her  gayly  colored  turban  was  curiously 


THE   LOVE-STRANCHE  257 

impassive  ;  only  the  sunken  eyes  seemed  alive. 
They  glowed  like  smouldering  fires  within  their 
half-closed  lids.  Her  arms  were  folded  across 
her  breast ;  her  bare  feet  and  ankles  were  visible 
beneath  her  short,  scant  skirts. 

There  were  signs  of  a  past  grandeur  about  the 
large  room.  A  stucco  frieze,  representing  a  pro 
cession  of  mythological  personages,  ran  around 
the  dingy  walls  under  the  lofty  ceiling.  The 
arched  windows  were  surmounted  by  elaborate 
moldings;  the  high  wooden  mantel,  upheld  by 
slim  pillars  of  twisted  brass,  was  delicately 
carved  ;  the  double  doors,  opening  upon  an  inner 
gallery,  were  set  with  panels  of  stained  glass. 

The  massive  sideboard  and  the  claw-footed  ta 
bles,  which  in  an  earlier  day  furnished  forth  this 
ancient  dining-hall,  had  long  since  disappeared. 
But  the  floor  was  clean  ;  the  humble  bed,  piled 
with  wholesome-smelling  unlaundered  garments, 
was  covered  with  a  snow-white  counterpane  and 
ornamented  with  stiff,  fringed  valances ;  the 
hearth  was  reddened  ;  the  tall  brass  fire  -  dogs 
glistened  like  gold. 

An  ironing-board,  with  a  partly  ironed  shirt 
upon  it,  was  supported  on  the  backs  of  two  chairs 
near  the  fireplace  ;  a  charcoal  furnace,  with  some 
flat-irons  plunged  into  its  bed  of  red  coals,  occu 
pied  a  corner  of  the  hearth. 

Floyd  Garth  idly  noted  these  commonplace  de 
tails  as  he  repeated  his  question,  "Maum  Hagar, 
can  you  'cunjur'?" 

Old  Hagar  looked  down  at  him  a  moment  be 
fore  speaking.  "I  ain't  shore,"  she  said,  slowly, 

17 


258  THE   LOVE-STRANCHE 

"  dat  I  kin  conjur  to  suit  you,  Mars  Floyd.  It 
'pends  on  what  you  wants." 

A  flush  darkened  the  young  man's  face ;  he 
shifted  his  position  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"What  is  you  honin'  after,  little  Mars  ?  You 
sholy  ain't  'shamed  to  tell  yo'  black  mammy, 
honey,"  she  said,  caressingly,  her  face  suddenly 
losing  its  impassiveness. 

He  laughed  gayly.  "You  make  me  half  be 
lieve  that  I  am  a  boy  again,  and  back  on  the  old 
plantation,  mammy  !  Do  you  remember  how  J 
used  to  steal  down  to  your  cabin  at  the  quarter 
when  I  wanted  anything  ?  And  you  never  failed 
to  get  me  what  I  wanted,  either  !  The  old  cabin 
looks  just  as  it  did  when  you  left  it.  How  long 
has  it  been  since  you  came  away  from  Garth 
Place  ?" 

"It's  seventeen  year  come  Christmas,"  she  re 
plied,  huskily,  as  if  a  lump  had  arisen  in  her 
throat. 

"Ah,  yes  !  it  was  the  year  my  father  took  me 
abroad.  You  came  this  far  with  us,  I  remember. 
How  I  yelled  and  kicked,  half  -grown  boy  as  I 
was,  when  they  tore  me  away  from  yotir  arms  ! 
Yes,  the  old  place  remains  the  sarne  in  spite  of 
all  our  drifting  about.  But  now  that  my  father 
is  dead — it  is  just  three  weeks  to-day  since  I  saw 
him  laid  beside  my  mother  in  the  old  burying- 
ground  at  the  plantation — now  that  he  is  gone, 
it  is  too  dreary  there.  I  shall  place  everything 
in  the  hands  of  the  manager  and  live  in  the  city 
myself.  I  may  open  the  old  town-house.  You 
will  come  and  keep  house  for  me,  eh,  maum  ?  Do 


THE  LOVE-STRANCHE  259 

you  know,  Maum  Hagar,"  he  continued,  musing 
ly,  "I  can  just  recollect  living  in  that  old  house  ! 
My  father  closed  it,  I  know,  when  my  mother 
died.  I  was  not  more  than  three  or  four  years 
old,  was  I  ?  But  I  can  dimly  remember  my  pret 
ty  dark-eyed  mother  bending  over  me,  with  her 
long  curls  falling  about  her  shoulders,  as  they  do 
in  her  portrait." 

His  reckless  face  had  softened,  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  floor,  and  he  did  not  see  the  som 
bre  lightning  which  flashed  into  those  gazing 
down  upon  him. 

"  And  then  my  father  gave  me  to  your  care, 
Maum  Hagar." 

"  I  nussed  you  fum  de  day  you  was  bawn,"  she 
interrupted,  fiercely. 

"  So  you  did,  mammy,"  he  said,  heartily — ' '  so 
you  did.  And  spoiled  me  well  into  the  bargain. 
I  must  be  going,"  he  added,  rising.  "  I  have  had 
a  precious  hunt  for  you  this  time,  and  I  never 
would  have  found  you  if—  He  checked  him 
self  suddenly;  then  asked,  "How  long  have  you 
been  living  hi  this  tumble-down  old  rookery  ?" 

"De  cunjur,  honey?"  she  said,  ignoring  his 
outstretched  hand.  ' '  You  axed  me  kin  I  cun 
jur." 

The  softened  look  vanished  from  the  young 
man's  face.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  setting  his  teeth  to 
gether,  "  I  want  you  to  cunjur — a  woman."  His 
protruding  chin  had  an  ugly  look  and  an  uneasy 
fire  burned  in  his  eyes.  "  A  woman,  by  God  !  who 
eludes  me,  and  tantalizes  me,  and  holds  me  at 
armVlength,  child  though  she  is  in  years  !"  He 


260  THE  LOVE-STRANCHE 

was  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  his  old 
nurse.  She  watched  him  with  narrowing  eyelids. 

"  Is  it  de  love-spell  you  wants,  or  de  hate-spell, 
honey  ?"  she  asked,  moving  a  step  nearer  and  lay 
ing  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

He  laughed  shortly.  ' '  Oh,  the  love-spell — first ! 
What  nonsense  !"  he  continued,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "  It  just  came  into  my  mind  how  they 
used  to  say  up  at  Garth  Place  that  you  could  throw 
Wanga.  I  was  only  joking.  Good-bye,  Maum 
Hagar.  Come  to  me  when  you  need  anything." 
He  dropped  some  silver  coin  into  her  apron- 
pocket,  and  turned  to  go. 

"I'm  goin'  to  fetch  you  de  love-spell,  little 
marse,"  she  said,  softly. 

He  seemed  not  to  have  heard  her.  ' '  Where  is 
Lisette  ?"  he  asked,  as  if  prompted  by  a  sudden 
thought.  "She  must  be  almost  grown." 

"Lisette  is  hired  out,"  Hagar  returned,  in  a 
preoccupied  tone.  "  She's  nigh  on  to  seventeen 
year  old,  Lisette  is." 

She  followed  him  out  upon  the  gallery  which 
overlooked  the  court,  crossed  and  recrossed  with 
flapping  lines  of  wet  garments,  and  watched  him 
descend  the  shaky  stair.  He  stopped  to  tap  with 
his  cane  one  of  the  great  marble  bath-tubs  placed 
side  by  side  on  the  slippery  flag-stones.  For  this 
decayed  and  mildewed  edifice  had  been,  in  the 
first  quarter  of  the  century,  the  luxuriantly  ap 
pointed  bath  and  club  house  of  the  jeunesse  doree 
of  the  old  French  quarter.  He  tossed  a  handful 
of  nickels  into  the  group  of  wide-eyed  babies 
squatted  within  the  tub,  and  nodded  good-hu- 


THE   LOVE-STRANCHE  261 

moredly,  in  passing,  to  a  cobbler  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  one  of  the  disused  bath-cells. 

"  He's  got  all  de  ways  of  de  Gunnel,  his  father," 
sighed  the  old  woman,  "  fair  a-drawin'  de  heart 
out'n  yo'  body,  an'  den  not  keerin'  fer  it  when 
he  gits  it.  Fve  ached  a'ter  hirn  fer  nigh  thirty 
year,  an'  he  'ain't  studied  'bout  me,  not  sense 
he  was  weaned  fum  de  breas',  less'n  he  wants 
sompn  !"  She  went  back  into  her  own  room  and 
closed  the  door.  "So  Cuniiul  Floyd  Garth  is 
dead,"  she  muttered,  pacing  back  and  forth  with 
rhythmic  step.  "What  diffunce  does  dat  make 
to  old  Hagar,  now  ?  But  de  boy  is  got  to  have 
what  he  wants  ef  I  have  to  spill  de  las'  drap  o' 
blood  in  my  body  to  git  it  fer  him.  Ez  to  de 
woman,  white  er  black,  dat  is  holdin'  back  fum 
him,  ef  I  kin  git  my  hands  on  her  Fll  twis'  her 
neck  same  ez  I  twis'  de  neck  of  a  chicken  !" 
Her  voice  rose  with  sudden  ferocity,  and  sank 
again  to  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  I  kin  th'ow  Wanga, 
me  !  I  knows  de  hate-spell  !"  She  thrust  her 
hand  into  her  bosom  and  took  out  a  small  black 
sea-bean,  highly  polished,  and  fitted,  like  a  mini 
ature  flask,  with  a  silver  stopper.  She  shook  it 
lightly  and  held  it  to  her  ear  as  if  to  assure  herself 
of  its  contents,  and  returned  it  to  her  bosom. 
"Yes,  I  knows  de  hate-spell.  But  I  don't  know 
de  love-spell.  I  'ain't  had  no  call  to  use  de  love- 
spell,  me  !"  The  suggestion  of  a  grim  smile 
played  over  her  withered  lips.  "But  de  boy  is 
boun'  to  have  what  he  wants.  I  mus'  git  dat  love- 
spell  fum  Voodoo  Jean  !" 

A  few  moments  later  she  came  out  into  the 


262  THE  LOVE-STRANCHE 

streets.  The  noonday  sun  was  hot,  though  it  was 
but  the  middle  of  February.  The  breeze  that 
travelled  along  the  narrow  street  was  heavy  with 
the  perfume  of  the  orange-trees  abloom  in  the 
square  a  stoned-throw  away.  Swarms  of  bare 
footed  children  basked  on  the  banquettes ;  they 
shouted  after  the  old  blanchisseuse  in  pure  baby 
wantonness.  She  seemed  as  oblivious  of  them  as 
of  the  older  idlers  lounging  in  doorways  or  dozing 
on  the  iron  benches  in  the  old  Place  d'Armes.  She 
walked  up  the  street,  rigidly  erect,  and  with  a 
firm,  brisk  step,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left, 
and  presently  turned  into  a  dim  corridor,  which 
opened  at  the  farther  end  into  a  small,  ill-smell 
ing,  triangular  court.  The  enclosing  walls,  formed 
by  the  rear  of  tall  brick  buildings,  were  pierced 
by  doors  and  windows,  whose  heavy  batten  shut 
ters  were  closed.  A  large  archway  on  one  side 
was  boarded  up ;  the  huge  spikes  which  clamped 
the  cross-pieces  were  rusty,  as  if  a  century  might 
have  passed  since  they  were  driven  in. 

Hagar  paused  a  moment  and  looked  about  her, 
as  if  taking  her  bearings;  then  she  crossed  the 
slimy  brick  pavement,  and  tapped  upon  a  low 
door  half  hidden  by  the  leaky  cistern  in  a  corner 
of  the  triangle.  There  was  an  interval  of  silence  ; 
then  a  light  shuffling  sound  within,  and  the  door 
was  opened  by  an  old  negro.  He  was  of  almost 
gigantic  proportions ;  the  shrewd,  repellent  face 
was  jet-black ;  the  large,  sensual  mouth  showed 
when  open  a  double  range  of  tusks  rather  than 
teeth  of  surprising  whiteness ;  the  small  eyes  shone 
beneath  their  bushy  white  brows.  A  red  turban 


THE   LOVE-STRANCHE 

was  twisted  about  his  head ;  his  coarse  blue  cot 
ton  shirt  was  open,  exposing  his  massive,  scarred 
chest.  A  necklet  of  oddly  shaped  bits  of  wood 
encircled  his  short  throat ;  his  feet  were  bare, 
and  silver  anklets  tinkled  on  his  brown  ankles  as 
he  moved. 

Hagar  pushed  past  this  forbidding  figure  and 
entered  the  small  room. 

Voodoo  Jean  regarded  his  visitor  with  mute, 
frowning  inquiry.  She  turned  back  her  sleeve 
without  speaking,  and  pointed  to  a  small  tattoo- 
mark  on  her  arm,  just  below  the  elbow.  A  quick 
gleam  of  intelligence  leaped  into  his  face.  He 
uttered  a  guttural  ejaculation  and  touched  a 
similar  hieroglyph  on  his  own  wrist.  When  they 
spoke  it  was  in  the  gibberish-like  tongue  of  their 
African  forefathers. 

The  den  in  which  they  stood  was  bare,  except 
for  an  arm-chair  placed,  by  the  single  window, 
and  a  rude  table,  which  was  strewn  with  pebbles, 
bunches  of  feathers,  bits  of  bone  and  straw,  and 
knotted  fragments  of  rope.  Lighted  candles  in 
flat  candlesticks  burned  at  either  end  of  the 
table.  On  a  narrow  shelf  above  the  open  fire 
place  there  were  two  or  three  tattered  books,  a 
wooden  rod  bound  with  brass,  and  a  small  box 
with  iron  clasps.  A  peculiar  musty  odor  perme 
ated  the  damp,  close  apartment. 

"Is  it  for  a  woman  you  desire  the  spell 
Voodoo  Jean  demanded,  when  Hagar  had  finished 
speaking. 

"  No,  for  a  man,"  she  replied,  briefly. 

He  walked  over  to  the  mantel  and  opened  the 


204  THE   LOVE  STUANCIIE 

little  box  which  stood  there.  ''Those  things" 
—he  waved  his  hand  contemptuously  towards  the 
table — "are  for  common  and  ignorant  fools  who 
must  be  fed  with  lies,  and  furnished  with  dead 
men's  fingers,  and  lizard's  blood,  and  graveyard 
worms.  This  " — he  took  from  the  rude  casket  a 
small  white  sea-shell,  whose  rosy  lining  glistened 
in  the  candlelight,  and  laid  it  in  the  yellow 
palm  of  his  long,  shapely  hand  — "this  is  for 
those  who  wear  the  mark."  He  touched  with  his 
forefinger  the  cipher  upon  his  wrist. 

Hagar  approached  eagerly. 

"  Stay  !"  He  lifted  a  warning  hand.  "Is  the 
man  of  our  blood  9"  he  demanded,  with  a  search 
ing  look. 

She  hesitated ;  great  drops  of  perspiration 
gathered  upon  her  forehead  ;  her  lips  opened 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  speak.  "Yes,  yes!"  she 
panted,  as  he  made  a  movement  to  return  the 
talisman  to  the  box. 

"  I  will  help  no  dog  of  a  white  man  to  a  wom 
an,"  he  said,  with  calm  ferocity.  "'Take  it, 
Woman  of  the  Mark  !  Let  him  give  it  himself 
into  the  hand  of  the  woman  he  desires.  It  is 
powerful.  It  cannot  fail." 

He  dropped  the  shell,  as  he  spoke,  into  her 
hand.  She  slipped  it  into  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  where  the  sea-bean  was  already  lying. 

He  waved  away  the  silver  she  offered  him — 
the  silver  which  her  foster-son  had  given  her 
at  parting.  She  laid  her  lips  humbly  upon  the 
tattoo-mark  on  his  arm  and  went  away.  He 
stood  on  the  threshold,  and  watched  her  pass 


THE   LOVE-STRANCHE 


across  the  court  and  turn  into  the  alley.  A  look 
of  contempt,  not  unmixed  with  pity,  rose  for  an 
instant  into  his  cunning  eyes.  Then  he  re-en 
tered  his  lair  and  closed  the  door. 


II 


Some  one  was  singing  in  Hagar's  room ;  the 
fresh  voice  went  echoing  about  the  ancient  gal 
leries  and  cobwebbed  corridors.  She  heard  it  as 
she  mounted  the  stair,  and  her  face  lightened. 
She  opened  the  door  and  stood  unnoticed  on  the 
threshold.  "  Lisette  was  bawn  in  freedom/'  she 
murmured,  exultantly,  "an'  she  certVy  looks  it !' 
The  girl  was  bending  over  the  ironing-board 
with  a  heavy  iron  in  her  hand  ;  her  calico  frock 
was  pinned  back  and  her  sleeves  pushed  up  above 
her  rounded  elbows.  She  was  tall,  like  her 
mother,  but  her  slim  figure  had  the  tender  and 
graceful  outlines  of  youth.  Her  skin  was  almost 
abnormally  white,  the  mixed  blood  showing 
only  in  the  colorless  cheeks,  the  large  eyes  with 
the  purple,  crescent-shaped  shadows  underneath 
them,  the  full,  voluptuous  lips,  and  the  crinkly 
hair,  which  was  drawn  back  from  the  low  brow 
and  woven  into  innumerable  little  plaits,  each 
closely  wound  with  cotton  thread. 

"Howd'ye,  mammy,"  she  cried,  looking  up 
brightly  as  the  old  woman  entered.  "  You  see, 
I've  been  doin'  yo'  ironin'  whils  I  was  waitin'  for 
you  to  come  home." 

Hager   smiled   at   her   affectionately.       "  Yo' 


266  THE   LOVE-STJIANCHE 

arms  is  younger  dan  mine,"  she  said.      "Lawd  ! 
how  de  i'on  do  skim  over  dat  shirt  I" 

"  I  can't  stay/'  Lisette  said,  slipping  the  gar 
ment  from  the  board  and  folding  it  deftly. 
"  My  madame  sent  me  on  a  erran',  an'  I  just  run 
by  to  fetch  you  some  cold  vittles."  She  picked 
up  her  white  sunbonnet. 

"  Dat's  right/'  her  mother  remarked,  follow 
ing  her  to  the  door.  "Don't  fool  erway  yo' 
mistiss's  time.  An'  min'  you  be  a  good  gal, 
honey  !" 

"I  will,"  laughed  the  girl,  laying  her  soft 
arms  about  her  mother's  brown  neck. 

The  next  morning  Hagar  hung  around  the 
street  corner  near  the  hotel  where  Garth  was 
stopping  until  she  saw  him  come  out.  He  re 
pulsed  her  almost  roughly  when  she  produced 
the  talisman.  "Take  it,  little  marse,"  she 
whispered,  looking  furtively  around.  "It's  de 
love-spell.  You  ha'  to  give  it  into  de  woman's 
hand  yo'se'f.  It's  boun'  to  work." 

"  I.  don't  want  it,"  he  said,  averting  his  face. 
"  Good  God  !  Hagar,  couldn't  you  see  I  was  jest 
ing  ?  Besides,  you  don't  know — "  He  stopped 
abruptly  and  walked  up  the  street,  leaving  her 
staring  vacantly  after  him,  with  the  shell  in  her 
hand ;  but  half  a  block  away  he  turned  and 
came  swiftly  back.  "  Where  is  the  cursed  thing, 
Hagar  ?  Give  it  to  me."  He  seized  it  fiercely. 
"I  shall  not  use  it,"  he  continued,  with  a  short 
laugh.  "I  am  going  away— up  to  Garth  Place 
— abroad.  I  may  be  gone  six  months — a  year, 
perhaps.  I  will  come  and  see  you  as  soon  as  I 


THE  LOVE-STRANCHE  267 

return."      He   shook   her   hand   nervously   and 
strode  away. 

"  He  called  me  Hagar !"  said  his  nurse,  looking 
after  him  with  dazed  eyes.  "Fer  de  fus'  time 
in  his  life,  he  called  me  Hagar  !" 


Ill 

"  Her  mistiss  mus'  sholy  bear  a  hard  ban'  on 
Lisette,"  sighed  the  old  washer-woman  one  morn 
ing  nearly  a  month  later.  "I  ain't  seen  de  chile 
sence  de  day  I  come  back  fum  Voodoo  Jean, 
an'  foun'  her  over  my  i'nin'-board." 

She  spoke  in  a  half-audible  tone  to  herself,  as 
she  moved  to  and  fro  among  her  tubs  in  the 
court-yard. 

"What  for  you  no  make-a  yo'  dotter  work-a 
with-a  you  ?"  interrupted  a  swarthy,  smiling  Ital 
ian  near  by,  her  fine  brown  arms  rising  and  fall 
ing  in  the  white  froth  of  the  suds.  "  Me,  when 
Cesca  git-a  grown "  —  she  stooped  to  pat  the 
round  cheek  of  the  half -naked  cherub  clinging 
to  her  skirts—"  I  wouldn'  lef  her  leaf -a  me  for  a 
hundred  dolla,  no  \" 

Hagar  deigned  no  response.  "Ef  dey  waVt 
so  many  low-down  Dagos  an"  triflin'  niggers  in  dis 
cote-yard  " — she  glanced  disdainfully  at  her  lo 
quacious  neighbor,  then  at  a  buxom  mulatress 
leaning  over  the  gallery  railing  above,  exchang 
ing  doubtful  jests  with  the  ear-ringed  Sicilian 
who  was  washing  vegetables  at  the  hydrant— 
"ef  dis  cote-yard  wa'n't  so  onchristian  I'd  fetch 


268  THE   LOVE-STRANCIIE 

de  chile  home  to-morrer.  Praise  de  Lawd  !  here 
she  come,  now  I" 

There  was  a  light  foot -fall  in  the  corridor, 
and  Lisette  appeared,  threading  her  way  daintily 
through  the  rubbish  that  strewed  the  court,  and 
through  the  net-work  of  lines  overhead.  "  Run 
along,  honey/'  Hagar  called,  cheerily.  "  Soon 
ez  I  wring  out  dis  tubful  an'  pin  up,  Fll  come." 

Lisette,  in  the  clean,  cool,  shadowy  room  above, 
took  off  her  sunbonnet  and  drifted  aimlessly 
about,  touching  a  homely  article  here  and  there, 
and  looking  at  it  with  absent  eyes.  A  subtle 
change  had  taken  place  in  her  appearance.  Her 
dress  was  the  same — the  dark-blue  calico  gown 
and  freshly  ironed  apron  ;  the  leather  belt  about 
her  slender  waist ;  the  coarse  shoes  and  cheap 
stockings.  But  a  new  and  indefinable  charm 
enveloped  her;  a  languid  grace  pervaded  her 
slow  movements ;  an  exultant  light  came  and 
went  in  her  dark  eyes. 

Her  mother  gazed  at  her  in  silence  from  the 
doorway. 

"  Whyn't  you  wrop  yo'  hair,  Lisette  ?"  she  de 
manded,  sharply. 

A  dull  color  rose  in  Lisette's  cheeks ;  her  eye 
lids  drooped  ;  she  raised  her  hands  as  if  instinc 
tively  to  her  head.  The  twisted  plaits  had  been 
combed  out,  and  the  wavy  mass  was  drawn  back 
into  a  loose  knot  at  the  nape  of  her  neck  ;  a  fringe 
of  crinkly  curls  fell  over  her  forehead. 

"I  ain't  had  time  to  wrop  it  this  mawniny 
she  said,  half  sullenly.  "  I've  got  sompn  to  do 
besides  wrop  my  hair.  The  madame  is  down 


THE   LOVE-STRANCHE  269 

sick,"  she  went  on,  volubly,  "  an'  the  children  has 
all  got  the  measles.  I  was  'fraid  you  might  get 
oneasy,  an"  I  come  to  let  yon  know,  mammy." 

"I  don't  know  when  I  can  come  again,"  she 
called  up  from  the  court-yard  when  she  went  away; 
and  after  she  had  reached  the  corridor  she  ran 
back  to  say,  breathlessly,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you, 
mammy  !  My  madame  don't  allow  me  to  have 
comp'ny  now.  So's  I  can't  ask  you  to  come  till 
the  children  gets  well.  But  don't  you  be  on- 
easy." 

"  De  chile  seem  like  she  low-sperrited,"  Hagar 
mused,  unpinning  the  snowy,  sweet  -  smelling 
clothes  from  the  lines.  ' '  Her  mistiss  mus'  sholy 
bear  a  hard  han'  on  her.  I'm  gwine  to  hurry 
up  my  starchin'  an'  rough  i'nin',  so  I  kin  go  an' 
he'p  take  keer  o'  dem  measly  chillen.  Comp'ny, 
hump!  7 ain't  no  comp'ny  !" 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day 
when  she  closed  and  locked  her  door  behind  her 
and  went  out  into  the  street.  She  was  a  notice 
able  figure  in  her  old  -  fashioned,  full  -  skirted, 
black  bombazine  gown,  her  spotless  lace  -  edged 
'kerchief  and  curiously  knotted  tignon.  She 
moved  along  the  uneven  banquettes  with  a  firm, 
quick  step,  but  her  form  seemed  to  have  lost 
some  of  its  erectness,  and  her  face  had  grown 
visibly  older  during  the  past  month. 

t:Ef  I  could  only  see  de  boy !"  she  muttered. 
"  I'm  fair  eatin'  my  heart  out  fer  a  sight  of  de 
boy  !  He  called  me  Hagar  fer  de  f us  time  in  his 
life  I  He  called  me  Hayar,  an'  den  lef  me  d'out 
so  much  ez  lookin'  back  over  his  shoulder !" 


270  THE   LOVE-STRANCHE 

She  had  halted  unconsciously.  The  corner 
was  a  quiet  one  ;  wide-eaved  cottages  and  dingy 
shops  shouldered  each  other  along  a  maze  of  in 
tersecting  streets  beyond.  The  tall  church-spire 
above  her  cast  its  shadow  across  their  pointed 
roofs.  She  leaned  against  the  church- wall,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  her  head  upon  her 
breast.  She  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
around  like  one  awakened  from  a  dream. 

"  Gawd — a — mighty!"  she  cried,  recoiling  as 
if  she  had  received  a  blow. 

Facing  the  church,  set  back  from  the  street 
and  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  high  wall  that  in 
closed  one  of  those  quaint  gardens  still  to  be 
found  in  the  very  heart  of  the  French  quarter, 
stood  an  old-fashioned  brick  mansion,  with  wide 
verandas,  long,  high  windows,  and  steep,  dormer- 
windowed  roof.  It  had  been  newly  painted  ;  the 
iron  grille  which  barred  the  corridor  on  one  side 
of  the  house  was  tipped  with  fresh  gilding.  The 
window-shutters  were  flung  back  ;  filmy  curtains 
within  were  swaying  in  the  light  breeze  ;  a  bird 
cage  hung  in  a  shaded  corner  of  the  upper  gal 
lery. 

A  silver  plate  on  the  front  door  bore  the  name 
Floyd  Garth. 

Hagar  drew  her  sleeve  across  her  eyestind  stared 
again.  Her  face  twitched  ;  a  sob  rose  in  her 
throat.  "  I  didn't  know  wher'  I  wuz.  De  ole 
house  !  De  ole  house  !  Where  de  slave  was  trod 
onderfoot !" 

The  words  came  in  broken  jerks  that  seemed 
to  tear  her  breast. 


THE    LOVE-STRANCHE  271 

"  De  mistiss  in  de  front  room.  De  slave  in  de 
kitchen.  Sarah  in  de  tent.  Hagar  in  de  wilder 
ness.  Twenty-five  year  an"  mo'  sence  I've  seen 
de  sin-stained  house  !  Twenty-five  year  and  mo' 
sence  de  slave  watched  de  mistiss  twis'  herse'f  on 
her  big  fo'-pos'  bed  an'  die  !  ...  Die  in  yo'  tent, 
Sarah !  Twis'  yo'se'f  on  yo'  bed  an'  die  !  .  .  . 
But  de  boy  is  mine — de  curly  hair,  roun'-cheek 
boy,  wi?  his  arms  roun'  Hagar's  neck  !" 

Her  voice  softened  as  she  uttered  the  last 
words ;  a  smile  of  unutterable  tenderness  played 
about  her  mouth.  She  walked  on  mechanically, 
but  turned  as  if  struck  by  a  new  thought.  "  De 
boy  must  ha'  come  back,"  she  murmured.  "  He 
sholy  is  come  back  !  He's  done  open  up  de  ole 
house  !  He's  been  studyin'  'bout  what  he  said 
when  he  ax  me  to  come  an'  keep  house  fer  him  ! 
He  ain't  fergot  his  black  mammy  !  He  didn't 
mean  nothin'  when  he  called  me  Hagar !  He 
loves  me!  ...  It's  been  a  long  time  sence  ole 
Hagar  has  cried  fer  joy,"  she  whispered,  wonder- 
ingly,  staring  at  the  drops  which  splashed  on  the 
back  of  her  hand.  "Mebby  he's  in  de  ole  house 
now — in  de  ole  house  where  he  was  bawn  !  Lessn 
he's  gone  down  to  de  ole  cote-yard  to  fetch  me 
home !" 

She  crossed  the  street,  half  -  running.  The 
grille  'was  unlocked ;  she  pushed  it  open  and 
went  in.  The  long-flagged  corridor  was  filled 
with  purple  shadows ;  a  little  stream  of  yellow 
river-water  ran  along  by  the  wall,  and  fell  with 
a  gurgling  sound  into  the  open  gutter  outside. 
Within  the  wide  court  a  low-branched  magnolia 


272  THE   LOVE  STRANCHE 

was  in  bloom,  the  great  white  cups  pouring  their 
pungent  incense  upon  the  air  ;  a  row  of  annun 
ciation  lilies  bloomed  at  the  foot  of  the  garden- 
wall.  A  thin  spray  of  water  arose  from  a  foun 
tain  set  in  the  midst  of  prim,  white-shelled  walks, 
and  fell  noiselessly  into  a  mossy  marble  basin.  A 
hammock  was  slung  on  an  overhanging  balcony  ; 
a  wicker  chair  knotted  with  ribbons  was  placed 
beside  it. 

The  kitchen  door  beyond  the  court  stood  open 
and  a  fire  burned  in  the  range,  but  there  was  no 
one  in  sight.  Hagar  hesitated,  looking  around. 
A  hall  door  stood  open  and  a  negro  lad  came  out 
of  the  house  ;  he  carried  a  silver  tray  with  a  long- 
stemmed  goblet  upon  it. 

"  Miss  July  Jackson,  de  cook,  has  jes'  stepped 
roun'  de  cornder,  m'am,"  he  said,  politely ; 
"  she'll  be  back  in  a  minit." 

"  I  'ain't  come  to  see  no  cook,"  said  Hagar, 
haughtily.  "I  come  to  see  Mr.  Floyd  Garth.  Is 
he  at  home  ?" 

"  No'm,"  replied  the  boy,  overawed  by  her 
manner,  "he  'ain'  come  yit.  Dough  he  ginerally 
comes  in  'bout  dis  time,  m'am.  But  de  madame, 
she's  at  home.  Dough  I  don'  'spec'  she  wanter 
be  r/is-turb.  But  I'll  ax  her  kin  you  see  her, 
m'am.  Dough — " 

Hagar  put  him  aside  unceremoniously.  "  I 
missed  Mr.  Floyd  Garth  fum  de  day  he  was 
bawn,"  she  said,  "  an'  de  madame  '11  be  glad  to 
see  Mr.  Floyd's  black  mammy." 

"De  shell  'ain't  failed  in  its  work," she  breath 
ed,  triumphantly,  threading  her  way  through  one 


THE  LOVE-STRANCHE  273 

well-remembered  room  after  another,  heedless  of 
the  familiar  objects  they  contained.  "  De  curly 
hair  boy  has  got  what  he  want.  An'  it  was  old 
Hagar  gin  him  de  love-spell  !  He's  gwine  to 
turn  his  sof  laughin'  eyes  on  me  like  he  useter, 
an'  say  :  '  Mammy,  you  gits  me  what  I  want.  I 
love  you,  mammy!'  Ez  to  de  madame — "  She 
laughed  significantly,  with  her  hand  on  a  fold  of 
the  heavy  portiere. 

She  lifted  the  curtain. 

On  the  wall  just  opposite  were  the  portraits 
of  the  late  Colonel  Floyd  Garth  and  his  wife — 
the  one  blue-eyed  and  blonde,  with  a  somewhat 
haughty  turn  to  his  patrician  head ;  the  other, 
dark,  fragile,  and  beautiful  in  her  wedding-gown 
of  shimmering  silk.  Between  them  hung  a  me 
dallion  portrait  of  their  only  son,  Floyd — an  ex 
quisite,  angelic  head,  set  in  an  aureole  of  lumi 
nous  cloud. 

Nothing  surely  had  changed  here  in  all  these 
years  :  the  same  big  canopied  bed  in  the  alcove, 
the  rosewood  work -table  by  the  window,  the 
high-backed  sofa  and  deep-bosomed  chairs,  the 
dainty  peignoir  thrown  across  the  foot  of  a  lounge 
with  a  man's  coat  tossed  carelessly  beside  it ! 

A  woman  was  standing  in  front  of  the  muslin- 
draped  Psyche  mirror.  Her  back  was  turned 
towards  the  door.  A  cloud  of  mist-like  white 
drapery  enveloped  the  slight  figure  ;  there  was  a 
gleam  of  gold  in  the  dusky  hair  ;  her  arms  were 
stretched  above  her  head,  the  filmy  sleeves  fall 
ing  away  from  them,  leaving  them  bare  to  the 
shoulders  ;  the  wrists  were  encircled  with  brace- 
is 


274  THE   LOVE-STRANCHE 

lets  ;  the  shoulders  rose  dimpled  and  shining 
above  the  loose,  low  gown. 

She  turned  at  the  slight  noise. 

"  Lisette  !"  The  name  broke  in  a  hoarse  whis 
per  from  the  mother's  lips. 

"  Lisette  r  She  dropped  the  curtain  and 
stepped  into  the  room,  glaring  about  her  like 
a  wild  animal,  her  lips  frothing,  the  veins  of  her 
neck  swelling,  her  whole  body  quivering. 

The  girl  gazed  at  her  with  horror  -  stricken 
eyes,  a  bluish  pallor  creeping  into  her  face. 

A  door  closed  somewhere,  jarring  the  stillness. 
A  step  sounded  on  the  bare,  polished  floor  of  the 
hall  outside,  a  hand  thrust  the  portiere  aside, 
and  Floyd  Garth  appeared.  His  face,  flushed 
with  his  walk,  wore  a  look  of  boyish  pleasure. 
He  stopped,  confused  and  uncertain,  on  the 
threshold.  The  flower  which  he  held  dropped 
from  his  fingers. 

At  sight  of  him  a  low,  appealing  moan  escaped 
Lisette's  lips.  She  started  forward  with  out 
stretched  arms  ;  but  an  imperious  gesture  from 
Hagar  restrained  her,  and  she  sank,  trembling, 
into  a  chair,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the  high 
back. 

The  shell  attached  to  a  slender  gold  chain  about 
her  neck  rose  and  fell  with  the  frightened  heav 
ing  of  her  bosom. 

Hagar  lifted  her  shrivelled  arms.  "  De  Voodoo 
spell  has  done  its  work,"  she  said,  looking  stern 
ly  at  the  master  of  the  house.  "  It  has  holp  you 
to  de  woman  you  want.  But  de  spell  ain't  finish' 
yet.  Dis  half  is  for  you,  little  Mars  Floyd  !  De 


THE   LOVE-STRANCHE  275 

yether  half  is  fer  de  gal,  Lisette  !  Dis  half  is  de 
spell  of  Voodoo  Jean.  De  yether  half  is  de  spell 
of  old  Hagar."  She  paused,  glancing  around  the 
room  as  if  in  search  of  something.  Her  eyes  fell 
upon  a  silver  filigree  basket  on  the  window-ledge 
filled  with  fruit.  She  crossed  the  room  hurried 
ly  and  took  an  orange  from  it.  The  two  young 
people  watched  her  with  fascinated  eyes  while 
she  swiftly  stripped  off  the  golden  rind  and  part 
ed  the  pulpy  layers  within. 

"Has  you  ever  heerd  tell  of  de  love-stranclie, 
little  Mars  Floyd  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  sort  of 
ferocious  lightness.  "  Dey  say  it's  de  mos'  cer 
tain  of  all  de  love-spells." 

She  held  out  between  her  thumb  and  forefinger 
one  of  those  small  crescent-shaped  sections  known 
locally  as  the  tranche  d'amour,  the  "love-slice." 

Garth,  rooted  to  the  spot  where  he  stood,  was 
vaguely  aware  of  a  quick  movement  of  her  hand 
to  her  bosom.  He  saw,  as  if  in  a  hideous  night 
mare,  wherein  he  was  numb  and  helpless,  some 
dark  shining  object  gleam  for  a  second  in  the 
long  fingers.  His  eyes  followed  her  panther-like 
spring  to  where  Lisette  lay  panting  in  the  high- 
backed  chair. 

"De  spell  of  Voodoo  Jean  for  one.  De  love- 
stranche  of  Hagar  for  de  yether.  De  love-stranche 
is  de  stronges'.  A'ter  you  try  de  love-stranche 
you  don't  ax  for  no  mo'  love-spells — nor  hate- 
spells  \" 

She  stooped  over  the  girl,  whose  large  eyes  were 
rolling  wildly. 

Garth  saw  Lisette's  blanched  lips  open,  the  tiny 


276  THE   LOVE-STRANCHE 

morsel  drop  upon  her  dry  tongue,  her  throat  con 
tract  in  the  effort  to  swallow. 

Hagar  looked  down  at  her,  mute  and  rigid.  A 
second  of  silence  followed,  broken  only  by  the  soft 
pad  of  the  negro  lad's  bare  feet  on  the  floor  with 
out,  and  the  airy  tinkle  of  ice  in  a  goblet.  Then 
a  short,  sharp  shriek  rang  through  the  room  ;  a 
gasp  shook  the  slight  form  in  the  chair,  running 
like  an  electric  thrill  along  her  limbs  ;  a  wave 
of  purple  mounted  to  her  face  and  neck,  and  re 
ceded  ;  the  eyes  closed,  the  head  fell  back.  The 
gold  band,  loosened  from  the  dark  locks,  rolled 
to  the  carpeted  floor. 

"  God  Almighty  !  Fiend!  Devil!  What  have 
you  done  ?"  Garth's  hand  was  upon  the  old  wom 
an's  throat,  and  he  was  shaking  her  to  and  fro  in 
a  frenzy  of  wrath  and  anguish.  ( '  She  is  my  wife  I 
Do  you  hear  me  ?  She  would  not  listen  to  me 
until  my  mother's  wedding-ring  was  on  her  fin 
ger  !  She  is  my  wedded  wife  !" 

She  shook  him  off  with  a  strength  far  beyond 
his  own.  His  words  evidently  fell  on  unheeding 
ears.  She  stooped  quietly  and  lifted  the  arm  of 
her  dead  child,  passing  her  hand  gently  over  the 
smooth  wrist.  Then  she  let  it  fall,  and,  drawing 
herself  up  to  her  full  height,  she  turned  with  a 
savage  cry  upon  the  man  whose  wild  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  her.  "  You  axed  me  kin  I  cunjur,-" 
she  said,  in  a  terrible  voice.  "  Yes,  son  of  Gun 
nel  Floyd  Garth  and  his  slave  Hagar — yes,  I 
cunjur  !" 

THE  END 


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